


In Cold Type

by VillaKulla



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Noir, Detective Noir, First Time, Investigative Journalist Goody, M/M, Private Investigator Billy, Slow Burn, ambiguous time period, billy pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 14:15:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15865266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VillaKulla/pseuds/VillaKulla
Summary: /ɪn kəʊld taɪp/ a journalistic expression for a story arranged in printBilly Rocks is a private detective who’s used to investigating the dark underbelly of his city. Goodnight Robicheaux is a journalist who’s used to exposing it. And when Goodnight walks into Billy’s office with a case, the pair become entangled in a world of fraud, deception, back-alley dealings, and good old-fashioned human greed…or for them, just another day at the office. (Noir AU)





	In Cold Type

**Author's Note:**

> For the 2018 Magnificent Seven Big Bang, featuring art by clairecreatesathing.tumblr.com (thesummoningdark on ao3), who was a fantastic partner, and I absolutely LOVE what they came up with for the art! Hope you enjoy!

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

Billy Rocks leaned against the window of his office, looking out. The view was the same as it ever was, one he felt he owned in a strange way. The tall buildings across the street with their endless rows of narrow windows. One-hundred and twenty five windows total could fit into the view from his desk, as Billy himself had counted one late night working, while trying to clear his head from his case at the time. Then there were the dark iron fire escapes that almost seemed to hang suspended against the bricks, the rusty, rickety exoskeleton of the entire city.

Billy tilted his head. If he leaned against the glass of the window he could just make out the patch of sky at the end of the block, squeezed in between two tall buildings. Nothing more than a sliver, but it was his sliver. Today that sliver was a foggy pink, hints of orange as the sun slowly lowered, the bricks of the buildings straining for a touch of sunlight.

A car horn blared on the street below, and Billy turned to look at the blinking red numbers on his clock, telling him it was almost five o’clock. He glanced at the window on his office door, but there were no shadows of a client through the rippled glass yet. Just the reverse view of the black lettering he’d stenciled on himself when he’d first set up shop eleven years ago here: Rocks Investigations.

In Billy’s experience there were three reasons people went to a private investigator. The first reason was domestic. Partners suspecting each other of infidelity and paying Billy to supply the dirty proof; child custody battles where the parents wanted to have something on the other; tracking down the location of an estranged family member; parents suspecting their children of taking drugs and wanting the evidence…these were generally Billy’s least favourite cases, but it was no use turning them away if he wanted to stay in business. Domestic disputes were a private investigator’s bread and butter, and would never run out. No matter how white-picket the family seemed, there was always a trap door with a bad smell coming from it somewhere in the house.

The second reason was background checks. Whether a company was making damn sure of a potential employee, parents were hiring a new nanny, or a lawyer was looking to discredit a witness, there would always be a need for background checks. It wasn’t exactly exciting work, but it was structured and meticulous, and Billy was good at it. Billy was freelance, but there were a number of businesses that kept him on-call for just such cases.

And the third, and most overwhelmingly common kind of case was money. From embezzlement to insurance fraud to bank robbing in ski masks, Billy had seen it all, and it all led back to money. The love of money might not have been the root of _all_ evil, but it was certainly close.

As for the clients, well they tended to span a wider range. Men, women, young, old, rich, poor…the one thing they all had in common were their nerves when they first sat down in Billy’s office. Like they couldn’t believe they were actually meeting with a private detective. Some overcompensated, putting on airs and ordering Billy around like they were deigning to take _him_ on, and not the other way around. Some were just embarrassed to be meeting with a detective at all, like he was a doctor to whom they didn’t want to describe the particulars of a nasty rash. Most were outwardly nervous, and Billy couldn’t say he minded that at all.

Billy still didn’t know what to make of the phone call he’d received last night though. The man calling had asked for an appointment, but refused to leave a name. When Billy had said that wasn’t going to work for him, there’d been a pause, and finally the man on the other end of the line had said ‘Justin Quayle’, the definitely fake name given in what was almost an amused tone.

It wasn’t unusual, the man not wanting to leave a real name. People could get all kinds of skittish, not to mention borderline dramatic when they picked up a phone to consult an honest-to-god private investigator. People tended to think they were being listened to at all times. People also tended to read too many detective novels.

But Billy had written in the appointment anyways, giving the man his last slot of the day. If he was full of shit with a boring case, then Billy could turn him out and finish early.

He turned back to his desk and glanced at his clock, just as the beeping numbers flipped over to read 5:00. And right on time there was a rap on the glass of the door.

“Come in,” Billy said. And the brass knob twisted, and in stepped the man Billy was due to meet with.

“Mr. Rocks?” he asked, perfectly courteous, with more confidence than people usually adopted the first time they set foot in Billy’s office.

“Justin Quayle?” Billy asked with just the barest trace of sarcasm in his voice.

If the client had picked up on it he didn’t say, but he wore a slight grin so he perhaps he had. He reached out to shake Billy’s hand, also unusual for Billy in these meetings. People were usually too on edge to do anything with their hands but twist them into their clothing or fiddle with the straps of their purses.

They sat down on either side of Billy’s desk and Billy took a good look at him, sizing him up. He didn’t look much older than Billy, the lines on his face born more of expression than time. He had light, sharp eyes in a weathered face, and too much hair gel. He was fairly trim but in a soft way that suggested a good baseline of fitness, but not one that the man much cared about keeping up. Even the way he carried himself was an odd mix of activity and indolence.

 _Lawyer or reporter_ , Billy thought watching him settle in, silently placing the bet with himself.

The man was unbuckling a large briefcase, and Billy could see from here it was no toy briefcase meant for show. Its leather was worn but sturdy, the buckles smooth from use. The man was taking out several sleek folders, which he then arranged on Billy’s desk as comfortably as if it were his own.

Billy waited until he was done, and the man reached for a blue folder saying, “I guess we should start with –”

“Your real name?” Billy said mildly.

The man looked up with a smile that was barely sheepish.

“That does seem fair, considering I have the advantage,” he said. “Goodnight’s my name. Goodnight Robicheaux.”

Later Billy would be pleased with the way his well-trained poker face didn’t betray his surprise. But it was sure as hell not what he’d been expecting. This could be interesting.

Billy got up, ignoring the look of surprise on Goodnight Robicheaux’s face, and walked over to one of the large filing cabinets in his office. The evening light was already beginning to cast lined shadows on the large cabinets. He leisurely flipped through the drawer, taking his time so as to regain the upper hand in the meeting. He left Goodnight waiting until he found what he was looking for, bringing it back to the desk.

“This Goodnight Robicheaux?” he asked, dropping an old newspaper article on top of Goodnight’s files.

“ _Cover-up in the Military_ ” The headline read. The story went on for six more pages, recounting in irrefutably-sourced detail, a major corruption in the military’s top levels. It had been a bombshell article when first published, a huge scandal to the military, and was the talk of political media for months afterwards. So was its author, Goodnight Robicheaux. An ex-military man himself, Goodnight had been hailed as a hero by some and branded a whistleblower by those who felt he was being a traitor to the organization he had sworn to serve. Goodnight hadn’t offered any defense, and after the article came out he had all but disappeared from the public eye. Some people thought he’d slunk off with his tail between his legs, some thought he was in hiding from the enemies his article had surely created, and some thought he was lying low, working on a new story.

And looking at the spread of papers on his desk, and the determined look on Goodnight’s face, Billy was betting on the latter.

“That’s the one,” Goodnight said easily, though he held himself like he was waiting for some other opinion from Billy.

“You’re a reporter,” Billy said as he sat back down, allowing himself a moment of satisfaction at his initial guess.

“Yes,” Goodnight said. “Or ‘investigative journalist’, whichever you prefer.”

“Which do you prefer?” Billy asked pointedly.

Goodnight shrugged affably. “It just seems so superior to insist on ‘investigative journalist’, doesn’t it? But ‘reporter’ makes me feel like I should be wearing a fedora and clutching a huge camera with a cigar between my teeth.”

Billy’s mouth turned up. ‘Private investigator’ had always sounded needlessly self-important to him, but on the other hand…

“Detective makes me feel like I need a trench coat and a pipe,” he said, surprising himself at the joke. But Goodnight let out a genuine laugh, breaking the ice, and they appraised each other again, this time from a more level playing field.

“So why are you here, Goodnight Robicheaux?” Billy asked, trying out the name for the first time.

“Before we start,” Goodnight said, “Can I count on your discretion whether you take the case or not?”

Billy inclined his head, not exactly a nod, but it was Goodnight’s business if he chose to read it that way. Billy had heard all kinds of threats of harm in here. He’d be as discreet as he saw fit.

Goodnight gave Billy a wry look, like he knew what Billy was thinking, and a slight smile like he approved of the caution. But he must have felt he could trust Billy because he flipped open one of the folders.

“I’m working on a story,” Goodnight said, leaning forward. “Are you at all familiar with Febris Pharmaceuticals?”

“In name,” Billy said. He’d never had any dealings with them personally.

“They’re one of the biggest leading pharmaceuticals companies in the country, and deal mostly with malaria medication,” Goodnight said. “But they’re not what they seem. I’ve been investigating them for the past two years and have reason to believe they’re corrupt.”

“Really?” Billy asked, and Goodnight slid the open folder towards him.

“They have a number of clinics across East Africa. But not all these clinics are legit,” Goodnight said, turning a page of the folder and showing Billy a grainy photo of a clinic surrounded by local vegetation.

“What’s not legit about them?”

“Well, to put it simply…they’re fronts,” Goodnight explained. “All Febris has to do is say they’re producing less meds than they are, and that lets their clinics charge a higher price to the civilians. And then the extra money goes right back into their own pockets. It’s price gouging, plain and simple.”

“How do you know it’s price gouging?” Billy asked. “And not just plain overcharging?”

“I happened to find a paper trail,” Goodnight said, showing Billy a new page full of columns and ledgers, with certain figures highlighted. “Started following it, and saw that their numbers are muddier than the Nile. Had to slog through a forest’s worth of papers, investigate their clinics on the ground and back here, but it’s clear: the amount of meds they’re producing over here isn’t making it to those clinics. And those pages prove it.”

Billy flipped through the pages quietly, running the numbers in his head, while Goodnight waited silently. Goodnight said he’d been investigating this for two years only? The files he’d placed on Billy’s desk looked like the work of five years, and ten people at least. It was an interesting case, but…what did he need Billy for?

“I’m not sure why you’re here,” Billy admitted, flipping the folder shut. “It looks like you have them pretty well collared already.”

But Goodnight was shaking his head.

“I could write about the clinics, expose the insiders over there, but the company would just send over more. No, if I want it to actually change, I’ve got to prove that this comes from the top down. And there’s one more thing I need.”

“And what’s that?”

Goodnight fixed Billy with a smile that was just the slightest bit cunning. “Well, that’s where I hope you come in. I’ve done as much legwork as I can on the clinics. But I want you to investigate the CEO. Get enough proof on him to show he’s at the helm of this plot to bleed other countries of their resources, and in doing so, is thereby engaged in international conspiracy.”

He finished his proposition with a flourish and beamed expectantly at Billy.

“Is that all?” Billy asked dryly.

“Well I grant you, you might have to put a couple of your other cases on hold,” Goodnight said unbothered, making a motion with his hand as though he was waving those surely petty cases away on the spot. “But I’m willing to give you carte blanche for expenses, and can cover loss of any other work on time you spend working on this one –”

“It’s not that,” Billy interrupted. “To do what you’re suggesting I would need to put taps on his phones at least…and then even if I _did_ hear anything illegal I’d still have to find hard evidence, and that would involve breaking into his office…I’d need to get building blueprints, start staking out the building as soon as possible…”

He broke off from his woolgathering, realizing he was already making a plan of action for the case. And from the eager, almost smug look on Goodnight’s face, he knew it too.

“A man of ideas,” he said. “I can see I came to the right place.”

Billy ignored him, looking at the array of files spread over the desk. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d have to investigate a company’s corrupt internal affairs, but there was a touch of glamour about this one…maybe it was the international element. Or maybe the inky splash of headlines that trailed after Goodnight’s name. Or maybe it was Goodnight himself, and the way he was still waiting for Billy to respond, his eyes warm, but with an edacious, hungry flicker to them, a predator on a scent trail…

“Okay,” Billy said, his pulse having decided for him. “I’ll do it.”

Goodnight clapped his hands together with a brilliant smile, the image of a predator vanished, replaced by almost boyish enthusiasm. Billy thought he caught the flash of a gold tooth.

“I’ve never gone to a private detective before,” Goodnight said. “There’s only a certain amount of investigating an investigative journalist can actually get away with, that is, if they want their story to stay aboveboard. I’ve always thought it would be useful to have someone else to –”

“- do the dirty work?” Billy finished, raising an eyebrow.

Goodnight looked at Billy in surprise. But then his face flickered into wryness mixed with the first bitter expression Billy had seen on him.

“Trust me. There’s no way any work you do on a case could be as dirty as this case itself.”

A silence fell over them, Goodnight’s face far away, probably to the location of the grainy clinic photograph he’d shown Billy. And then he seemed to snap out of it, and began collecting his things. Billy had him sign a contract, and just like that, Billy had a new case. One that promised to be a darn sight more interesting than some of his usual ones.

“You do realize you’re asking me to break the law though, right?” Billy asked pointedly as they stood up.

“Mister Rocks, I’d never ask you to break the law,” Goodnight said in an almost scolding tone, his eyes regaining some sparkle. “But I mean, if that’s what you think is best…”

“Seriously,” Billy said, and the smile lingered on Goodnight’s face but his eyes were on Billy in full attention. “You’re a journalist. Doesn’t it compromise the integrity of your story if your evidence is obtained illegally?”

“Well not necessarily,” Goodnight said. “You see, _I_ couldn’t illegally obtain information if I wanted to use it. But if someone else happened to come by certain information and chose to give me evidence, then I could just make them an ‘anonymous source’ and no one would have to be the wiser.”

“Sounds risky,” Billy said, aware of some but not all of the journalistic loopholes.

“For me, not for you,” Goodnight corrected him. And then he gave him an ironic grin. “A good reporter always protects his sources.”

He shifted the weight of his briefcase and had just reached for his hat when Billy asked him:

“Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“A good reporter.”

Goodnight looked like he was going to say something. But then he shut his mouth in favour of simply nodding at the newspaper still on Billy’s desk.

“You’re the one with the paper. You decide.”

He smiled at Billy and placed his hat on his head. And with that, he turned on his heel, leaving Billy’s office the way he came. The sudden silence he left behind was almost disconcerting, like a tornado had whirled in and out, leaving only scattered papers in its midst.

Billy picked up the newspaper, looking to the old article again, the one that had created so much furor when it came out, the one that had made ‘Goodnight Robicheaux’ a household name. And that had been Goodnight Robicheaux, in the flesh.

Billy was still forming an impression of him. He was clearly competent, which was not normally the case for Billy’s clientele. Not to mention his case was a lot more intriguing too and the man probably knew it, although he’d had the decency not to rub it in. Goodnight was a smooth operator sure, but somehow Billy felt he was trustworthy. He wouldn’t have taken the case if he thought otherwise. He’d had a quicksilver polish, but beneath the silvery veneer he’d shown a few moments of genuine steel. Chinks in the armour in a way, but ones that seemed to reinforce its strength, rather than weaken it.

Billy placed the newspaper back on his desk, resolving to reread Goodnight’s article later that evening. But right now he had to go see a man about some flowers.

 

*

 

Billy walked through the streets just as the last rays of sun were slipping beneath the buildings, shading the streets grey. It was still warm but he had his jacket slung over his arm. The city could switch from the heat of the day to evening chill at the drop of a hat, and Billy didn’t know how long he’d be out for. He had some things to take care of.

He headed down one the long street, one of the main arteries of the city. It cut through the whole town, from the tall buildings of the financial districts uptown, right down to the docks, where no one with any sense went once the sun was down. And in between the two extremes were just normal people making a living, some in more legit ways than others. Billy didn’t live on the wrong side of the tracks exactly, but he was close enough that the seedier parts of the city weren’t much more than a few wrong turns away.

There were plenty of businesses in Billy’s neighbourhood, most of them rolling down their caged storefronts, done for the day. Delis with shanks of meat hanging in the windows, convenience stores with signs peeling in the windows, the shelves inside laden high with everything from canned food to shaving cream. There was the neighbourhood police precinct which pedestrians gave a wide berth on principle, instinctively distrustful of the squad cars parked outside, and the cops who mingled on the steps, eyeing everyone else with a suspicion that was equally ingrained. There were food stalls whose owners were taking their time closing up, knocking down the prices of whatever limp, unwanted produce was left, hoping to squeeze out a few more sales before closing time. There were all-night restaurants with neon signs advertising every kind of food imaginable: Italian diners next to burger joints next to Chinese takeout next to Jamaican. The spices mingled in a bitter, peppery clash, permeating the streets, the sounds of laughter and people talking inside, gearing up for the night. Billy walked past it all.

He turned a corner onto a quieter side street and saw his destination ahead. A flower shop with a bright yellow awning, flowers almost seeming to spill across the cracked pavement outside and out onto the curb. It was a lush, verdant break in the urban stretches of city life on either side.

Billy pushed open the door, a bell jangled overhead, and Billy was immediately engulfed by a wall of humidity to match the heat outside.

“…you’ll want to recut the stems every two to four days, depending on how they’re looking. Not too much, just this much…”

Billy made his way through the shop, weaving around potted flowers, hanging baskets whose contents were spilling over into the aisles, crinkling bouquets, and tall floor plants whose long, rubbery leaves whispered against the cloth of Billy’s coat. The store smelled as damp and earthy as it always did, floral scents wafting over thick, pungent, soil.

The florist was busy with a customer when Billy reached the back of this jungle, but he still sent a grin at Billy when he saw who it was.

“I’ll be right with you,” he said, tying a ribbon around a rustling bouquet whose buds were seeping out of its wide mouth. He handed it to the customer with a careful flourish.

“Here you are, Señora McArthur. My best blooms for my best customer.”

“Oh thank you, Mr. Vasquez,” the elderly woman said, laughing at the flattery. “They really do brighten up a home.”

“I can’t imagine any home with you in it isn’t bright already,” Vasquez said graciously. “Now please let me walk you to the door.” He offered the woman his arm, neatly ignoring Billy’s eye roll at him. Billy hung back, idly stroking the leaves of ivy which curled over his hand.

“So,” Vasquez said returning. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Thought I was your best customer,” Billy deadpanned.

Vasquez laughed. “And I’m even telling the truth to one of you.”

“Not gonna say who?” Billy asked.

“You’re the detective, you figure it out,” Vasquez said.

He looked like he was going to say something else, but the bell over the door rang out again, and a new line quickly formed behind Billy. Seeing they wouldn’t get a chance to talk properly, Billy got straight to business.

“I need to place an order,” Billy said, and Vasquez nodded, grabbing a pen from behind the counter and shaking the soil off a stray piece of paper.

“I need three ivy plants,” Billy said. “If you have any.”

“No problem,” Vasquez said. “Anything else?”

“A set of bluebells, and matching lilies of the valley.”

Vasquez nodded. “And who are the bluebells for?”

Billy let himself smile a little.

“Febris Pharmaceuticals.”

It was hours later, nearly midnight when Vasquez showed up at their regular meeting place. Billy was in a booth in the corner, taking his time over a bottle of beer when he saw Vasquez walk in, nearly as tall as the arch of the door. He grinned when he spied Billy and made his way over, procuring a sheaf of papers from beneath his arm.

“Your flowers,” Vasquez deadpanned, dropping the tubes of paper to the table, all sheathed in plastic wrap to protect them from the rain that had started up outside, rain that Vasquez was now shaking off his coat before sliding into the booth across from Billy.

“That was fast,” Billy commented, collecting the papers and placing them in a bag, resisting the urge to open them up here, however tempting. Even though this bar was a crossroads for all manner of black market activity, it wouldn’t pay to advertise it.

“Wasn’t the hardest order you’ve given me,” Vasquez said with a shrug, signalling the bartender for the same kind of beer as Billy.

“Got the ivy?” Billy asked drolly.

“Here you go,” Vasquez said, taking a small wrapped box out of his coat pocket and sliding it across the stained table. Billy put it in his own pocket. It was a set of phone taps, which Vasquez called ‘ivy’ because of how they got into everything.

“Thought you already had some of those?” Vasquez asked curiously.

“I did, but they stopped working,” Billy explained.

“Well then I know you didn’t buy them from me,” Vasquez said confidently, sitting back comfortably against the booth as he bartender brought over a round of beers.

Billy had known Vasquez about nine years, almost as long as he’d been a PI in this city. But he knew Vasquez had been in business much longer than that, and flowers were only a small part of it. Vasquez owned one of the busiest flower shops in the city, but flowers weren’t the only thing for sale. If you knew what questions to ask, Vasquez could find you anything from blueprints to security codes, to fake papers, the works. He dealt in all kinds of black market contraband. Vasquez’s prices were high but you were guaranteed speed of acquisition, and quality of the materials. His flower arrangements weren’t bad either.

“How much for this batch?” Billy asked.

“Well considering it was a quick job, and I’m also giving you the ‘you’re buying my drinks tonight’ discount,” Vasquez said, raising his bottle to Billy. “Three-fifty.”

Billy counted it out and passed it discreetly to Vasquez who had raised his eyebrows at the wad Billy was carrying.

“If you were anyone else I’d be worried about you getting mugged with that much on you,” Vasquez said. “How many drinks are you planning on buying me?”

“Retainer from a new client,” Billy said.

Vasquez sighed. “You work too much,” he said, shaking his beer bottle at Billy as though wagging a finger at him.

“You work more than I do,” Billy pointed out truthfully.

“Yes but I do things outside of work too,” Vasquez countered. “It’s called a personal life, amigo, maybe you’ll investigate one of those next, huh?”

Billy flicked a peanut shell at him and Vasquez laughed.

“Do you know how many personal lives I investigate?” Billy asked pointedly. “Half my cases are people’s relationship problems.”

“ _Bad_ relationship problems,” Vasquez corrected him on principle.

“You think they all started out bad?” Billy asked and then shook his head. “I’ve seen what relationships can do to people, and they make you paranoid, possessive, and a mess. No thank you.”

Vasquez didn’t reply and just eyed Billy with a smile that was more knowing than Billy liked.

“What?”

“One of these days you’re going to come into my shop, amigo, and you’ll be buying real flowers for someone,” Vasquez said, still wearing that somewhat sad smile. “Then you’ll see.”

Billy rolled his eyes and changed topics. “How’s work?”

Vasquez perked up and began immediately describing a shipment of orchids he was expecting, supplying Billy with details of why this particular strain was harder to care for, as though Billy hadn’t managed to kill every leftover cactus Vasquez had ever given to him.

“…they need moisture in the air, but at the same time their soil can never get too damp, and…what?”

“Nothing,” Billy said, suppressing his grin. He’d been asking about Vasquez’s other line of work, not an earnest oration on the intricacies of watering plants. “I just sometimes forget you’re an actual florist.”

Vasquez laughed. “Almost half my profits come from the shop alone.”

“True,” Billy said, leaning back as the bartender set down the two new beers they’d ordered. “Did anyone ever think you’d do so well with it?”

“I did,” Vasquez said simply, reaching for a beer. “People always need flowers.”

“In this town?”

“Especially this town,” Vasquez said. When Billy looked up at him questioningly, Vasquez shrugged, face wry.

“No shortage of funerals in this town, amigo.” He held up his bottle in a mock toast, and Billy let out a huff of not-quite laughter, and they tapped the necks of their bottles together.

 

*

 

Billy walked back through the streets which were still getting dusted by a fine, silvery drizzle. Water trickled down the pavement, deeper beside the sidewalks, pooling wherever it encountered trash. Billy didn’t notice any of it with his face tipped up towards the almost misty rain, dotting his face in cooling pinpricks. This summer had been too damn hot already and it had barely started.

Billy felt invigorated, which he hadn’t felt for a while. Not that he was bored exactly. His workload kept him from ever getting too restless. But these days it seemed like all his cases were the same old pot boilers: follow this unfaithful husband here, run a background check on this suspicious employee there…Billy kept half-expecting someone to show up asking him to find their missing cat.

Billy thought about what Vasquez had said while he made his way back home, through the side streets. Maybe he did work too much. And maybe that was why he didn’t have as many personal friends as when he was younger. Although in his defense, it wasn’t the kind of city that was easy to make friends in. Its sprawling anonymity bred more suspicion than openness. Even Vasquez had been a business contact first, although the friendship hadn’t been long in following. Vasquez was one of the few close friends Billy had, and was also one of the few people who ever dared to tease him. Something he’d certainly done tonight when telling Billy to get a relationship.

Billy snorted, kicking an empty beer can out of the way. Get a personal life. Thank you, Vasquez. Although it was easy for Vasquez to say. He was in one of the longest running relationships Billy knew of, even if only select few knew about it.

Contrary to what he’d told Vasquez, Billy didn’t really think all the personal problems he saw in his line of work had anything to do with his lack of a relationship. Billy considered himself to be at least _slightly_ more self-aware than most of his clients, thank you very much. Billy wasn’t actively avoiding a relationship. He’d just never been tempted. There’d been opportunities, but none of them had seemed worth the time. And if it wasn’t someone Billy _wanted_ to give his time to, then what was the point?

This latest case at least promised a break from the monotony. He’d dealt with corporate scandals before but it had been a while since he’d been involved in anything high profile. Corruption in the pharmaceutical world…it would be an explosive article once this Goodnight Robicheaux actually penned it. And of course that would depend on what Billy could uncover for him.

Back at his building Billy punched in the code and immediately felt a pressure against his ankles. He looked down to see the black street cat who frequented the alley beside his building. Not exactly a stray, not exactly Billy’s cat, she’d taken to sunning herself on the fire escape outside Billy’s window where it was the warmest. Billy had fed her once, and the result was a four-legged shadow who sometimes disappeared for weeks, and sometimes waited for him at the door, hoping to be let in.

“Only because it’s raining,” Billy warned her before scooping her up in her arms, heading inside, walking up the narrow stairs. He bypassed the floor his office was on, heading straight to the top floor where he actually lived. Billy didn’t know what kind of an idiot he’d have to be to live in the same place as his office, where anyone with a grudge could find him and break in. That was the same reason Billy didn’t keep sensitive materials in his office either. No, the office was for clients, his apartment was for him. Short walk to work though.

Billy entered his apartment, locking it back up behind him, turning the locks in a custom sequence. He kicked off his shoes which bounced down the front hall in a series of thuds. He was barely tipsy but was definitely feeling loose. He always seemed to drink more than he meant to when out with Vasquez.

He deposited the cat on the floor and went and got a bottle of water from the fridge and some leftover takeout. He took them back to his worktable, the cat tagging along at his heels the whole time. He dropped her a piece of fried pork on a plate and left her to it. He switched on the lights around the table and unrolled the blueprints Vasquez had gotten for him. Billy pulled in his chair, crossed his legs beneath him, and settled in.

He read steadily for a couple hours, memorizing every floor plan, comparing offices with their security systems. The cat eventually finished her dinner, and Billy had to occasionally shoo her off the blueprints he was trying to read. It was a pretty tight layout, but Billy could work with it once he’d staked out the place enough. Companies this slick tended to be surprisingly lax about intruders. They got so caught up in having a sleek, streamlined system, assuming any threat to security would be digital. They weren’t ever expecting an analog threat. And Billy had enough tricks up his sleeve, not to mention pure bravado, to be just that threat.

Satisfied that he had a solid way into the CEO’s office, Billy rolled up the files and stretched, casting a glance at the clock over his stove. Three AM. Not bad for a day’s work. And he didn’t have any clients tomorrow morning either, so he could sleep in before gearing up for a day of staking out the comings and goings of the company. Billy actually liked doing stakeouts. They appealed to his scrupulous nature. But they did require more energy than people thought.

Billy tossed his empty container of takeout into the trash and wandered over to his bedroom where the moon was coming in, streaming over the bed’s navy comforter. He left his clothes in a heap on the floor but didn’t flop straight down on his mattress. He had one more thing to read, and he picked up the old newspaper containing Goodnight’s breakout story.

He’d read the article when it had come out, but that had been a few years ago. And he hadn’t been paying any attention to the writing style, just the story. But now, with the fresh memory of its author sitting right across from him, Billy turned his bedside light on and sat up against the pillows, picking up the article to read it again.

It was well written, no question about that. Searing and insightful it presented a clear case of military corruption that was sophisticatedly outlined, but clear enough to make sense to the average uninformed citizen. There was a distinct lack of floridity, which Billy suspected took every ounce of the man’s self-control to rein in for the sake of news reporting. It was more cut and dried than Billy would have expected, and written seriously without the slightest hint of the humour that Goodnight had projected in person. But there was nonetheless an unmistakable dramatic flair to the article, told with an eye for building the story up piece by piece.

Billy read the article to the very end. There was no picture of Goodnight, but there was a small block of text in italics: _Goodnight Robicheaux is a contributing writer to The Times, and investigative reporter, and former military correspondent. He would like to dedicate this piece to all the servicemen and women who know that loyalty to a petrified opinion never yet broke a chain or freed a human soul._

Billy raised his eyebrows at the very literary signoff from the factual tone of the article, one he hadn’t registered at the time of its publication. He recognized the Mark Twain quote and wondered if Goodnight was a fan. Probably, given the southern lilt the city hadn’t quite managed to stomp out of his voice.

It was a controversial quote though, given the circumstances of the story. There’d been no shortage of people accusing Goodnight of being a traitor to the military he’d been a part of. For every letter to the editor that praised Goodnight for his bravery, there would be one asking how he could sleep at night, thinking of all the names and ranks he’d hung out to dry.

But if Goodnight harboured any residual shame from the label of ‘traitor’ he’d been slapped with, the somewhat defensively-included quote suggested more than one kind of loyalty, and that Goodnight had embraced his, and that was all he had to say about it.

“You tell ‘em,” Billy said with a yawn, folding up the newspaper and placing it on his nightstand where it crinkled. He nudged his pillows down again, curling up and closing his eyes. He started when he felt something jump on the bed, remembering quickly he’d let the cat in.

“Do you have a case for me too?” Billy asked sleepily. There was an answering purr by his feet.

“Some stray you are,” Billy snorted. And with that he rolled over and turned out the light.

 

*

 

Billy stood across the street from the Febris Pharmaceutical company headquarters. He ignored the pedestrians, a stone in a never-ending tide of people. He gazed up at the building that stretched up into the sky, grey and chrome, silvery windows seeming to swim in the sunlight.

He checked his watch. Just past two in the afternoon, when most people were back from long lunches, the last stretch of the workday beginning to kick in. Workers would be full, and at their most lazy, satisfied, and most importantly: unsuspicious.

And grinning to himself, Billy adjusted his bag, tugged his mailman’s cap over his forehead, and strode across the street, dodging the traffic, the pharmaceutical building looming overhead.

Through the revolving doors, across the lobby, and over to the front desk with the guard who would decide whether or not to buzz you in through the turnstiles to the building.

“ID,” the guard said promptly to Billy.

Billy handed over his laminated, homemade ID card. The guard didn’t seem suspicious, but even so, Billy leaned forward with a trick that never failed.

“Hey, is there a bathroom somewhere in there I could use?” he asked in a low voice.

The guard snorted, sliding Billy’s ID back across the counter, reassured by the base human need that unites us all.

“On the right, past the elevators, before you go up,” he said, buzzing Billy through.

“Thanks,” Billy muttered, retrieving his ID and pushing through the turnstiles, moving quickly like someone for whom the situation was urgent.

Now he was in the real lobby, immediately swarmed by workers who circled with briefcases and stacks of paper, a sea of pencil skirts, pumps, and smart looking suits. Billy moved past them unobtrusively in his blue mailman’s uniform, heading to the front desk and signing in. The receptionist glanced in his bag at the letters and packages, nodded and waved him towards the elevators.

Billy spent an appropriate amount of time moving purposefully throughout the offices, depositing letters onto cubicle desks and through the mail slots of corner offices. It was all spam: free offers, special cable deals, takeout pamphlets, junk which Billy hoarded religiously for this exact ruse.

Now for the packages. Billy scanned the copper plate list of names beside the elevator until he found the CEO. Top floor, naturally. He took the elevators all the way up, ears popping, until he arrived at a private floor that was already noticeably more plush and glitzy than the bare offices downstairs. There was another receptionist to contend with, this one with a more elegant updo than the secretary downstairs, and more expensive looking jewelry. She also looked shrewder, in a way that not even a face full of guileless makeup could disguise.

But that was the beauty of special packages: only the receiver can sign for them, however discerning their staff might be. So Billy hung back while the receptionist placed a hushed call, waiting for confirmation. And then she buzzed Billy in with an elegant ringed finger, and Billy was stepping through the sleek polished doors, and into the CEO’s office.

The room was exactly what he’d pictured: wide, rich carpeting, wider windows, and expensive décor that was lush in its minimalism. Billy noted the vaguely Asian accessories with amusement. All important businessmen seemed to have bonsai trees, oriental screens, or bamboo shelves somewhere in their offices, like they were trying to show their visitors they occupied some higher, even mystical plane.

The businessman himself was exactly what Billy had pictured too. White hair, white skin, expensive suit tailored somewhat whimsically as though to show he was a unique mind in this world, when in fact, all men of his stature did the exact same thing. He was just like everyone else in his position. Even his name didn’t matter to Billy.

Billy didn’t wait to be called to the desk, and walked forwards, taking the first package out of his mailbag.

“Package for you,” he said quietly inside the zen room. “It’s heavy,” he added.

The CEO stood up at those words to take it, exactly as Billy had expected he would. No man, especially a rich white-collar one could resist a simple show of strength, especially when it was offered by a man with a blue-collar job. The package itself was just a medical study Billy had found and printed, addressing it from another pharmaceutical company as though in the name of shared research. It would be an annoying package for the man, but not a suspicious one.

The CEO lowered the thick package to the desk, and Billy extracted a clipboard from his bag, letting his hand brush the back of the phone on the CEO’s desk.

“Need your signature, sir,” Billy mumbled, and the man took the paper to sign. Billy took the opportunity to let his eyes slide around the room as though awed and slightly cowed by its splendour. He let his eyes linger over the crowning piece of the whole room: a sensational jeweled screen that glittered over on a far wall. The man would have been disappointed if he didn’t.

Billy muttered his thanks once he’d retrieved the signature, and he walked back to the door, shoulders hunched, unremarkable, belonging to a world outside this office, already a ghost to the man. He straightened up once he was back in the elevator. One more package to go.

He took the elevator back down, stopping into the nearest bathroom and pulling a change of clothes out of his mailbag. Electrician’s uniform this time. He then turned the regulation mailbag inside out, revealing a plain side. You could buy secondhand uniforms at any consignment store, but he’d designed the bag himself. Wearing multiple disguises was one of the few private investigator clichés Billy could support, and he was pleased at how his costuming skills had developed over the years. A tousle of his hair, a hat to cover it, and a pair of rimless glasses sealed the look.

Billy found the room he was looking for, courtesy of Vasquez’s blueprints. The electrical room was blocked by a thick, stainless steel door, but Billy had the codes, also thanks to Vasquez. He punched in a sequence of numbers and slid unobtrusively through the door.

It was quiet in the room and he breathed in the dry, musty air, machines humming around him. His eyes adjusted to the dim lighting and he began to make out the cables that coiled around the whole room like snakes entombed in cold, thick, skins. And off to the side was what Billy was looking for: the switchboard. He walked over while humming the tune from that new show, ‘Secret Agent Man’ that he’d seen a few times.

Billy opened up his second package. Inside was a small, black, external phone tap. A twin to the one up in the CEO’s office right now. The one Billy had placed surreptitiously beneath the man’s phone while he’d been distracted.

Still humming to himself, Billy located the proper phone line from the maze of wires and clipped the phone tap to it. He looked down at his recording device which was attached to the phone tap. An icon on it lit up in a soft, steady green. He was in.

Billy straightened up and hoisted his bag over his shoulder. He stepped back out into the hallway, closing the door behind him. An office worker passed by and Billy tipped his electrician’s cap at them, getting a smile in response. And Billy walked back down the hall, smiling a bit to himself, humming Secret Agent Man all the while.

 

*

 

Billy stepped out of the shower, towelling off his hair. God it was hot. Billy didn’t actually mind the heat, or the humidity. It reminded him of summers back home where the heat sunk into you the second you stepped outside. But summers in this city were absolutely sweltering, the tall buildings trapping everyone under them in an airless bubble, and Billy found himself jumping into a cold shower a couple times a day.

Billy dumped his towel on the tiles of the bathroom floor and walked back into his bedroom, almost tripping over the rumpled electrician’s uniform he’d practically peeled off his body when he got back home. He kicked it to the side where it landed on another pile of clothes lying in a heap.

 _Do the laundry_ , he silently admonished himself. He walked across the bedroom to throw his curtains, letting the late afternoon sun stream in. His apartment got a better view than his office, did, and from up here he could even make out the river in the distance, a rippling curving blue around the city; the chrome sparkle of the skyscrapers uptown; the older brown-bricked neighbourhoods behind them in their shadows. He saw so much of this city’s underbelly that sometimes it was hard to feel attached, even though he’d been here over half his life. But here on top of it all, watching his city stretch out beneath him and edge into a summer evening, Billy felt practically fond.

He flopped down on his bed, picking up his phone and Goodnight’s business card. He held the phone between his ear and shoulder while he dialled the number. The cat appeared from somewhere, enjoying her day out of the sun. She hopped up onto the bed purring and Billy leaned back against the pillows.

The phone rang steadily. Billy waited, playing with the plastic cord of the phone. He wouldn’t leave a message if Goodnight was out, just try again later. Billy knew better than to leave a message from a private investigator on someone’s machine. The phone kept ringing and Billy was just about to hang up when he heard a clatter on the other end and the sound of panting.

 _“Hello?”_ Goodnight’s voice asked breathlessly.

“Catch you at a bad time?” Billy asked conversationally.

_“Sorry, who is this?”_

Right. Billy cleared his throat awkwardly. No reason for Goodnight to remember his voice after one meeting. “It’s Billy. Rocks.”

 _“Billy Rocks!”_ came Goodnight’s voice with an enthusiasm that didn’t seem feigned. _“Good to hear from you. And no, not a bad time, I was just getting out of the shower.”_

“Me too,” Billy said, and then bit his lip at his own awkwardness. How was that piece of news relevant?

But Goodnight didn’t seem to find it an odd tidbit of information to share, just said: _“This heat is hell, isn’t it? I thought it got hot back home, but at least you can catch a breeze sometimes. Summer in this city feels like the goddamn tropics.”_

“Where are you from?” Billy asked curiously, leaning further back into his pillows.

 _“Louisiana,”_ Goodnight answered. _“Gets hot as blazes down there.”_

“So you’re not originally from here either?”

Goodnight laughed, the sound crackling through the receiver. _“Is anyone who lives in this city from it originally? Or were we all just lured by big city dreams and moved here for the glamour and promise of it all?”_

Billy felt his lip curve. “Something like that.”

There was a pause, just long enough to be awkward, and then Goodnight’s voice asking: _“So how’s the case going?”_

The case. Right. The reason Billy had been calling in the first place, but somehow he’d ended up making small talk, something he generally avoided with clients at all costs.

“So far so good,” Billy said. “I was actually calling to say I put a tap on his phone today, and we’ll be able to hear any of his conversations from his office.”

 _“Christ, you don’t waste any time, do you?”_ Goodnight sounded genuinely amazed. _“Wasn’t expecting you to find a way in for at least a week.”_

“Yeah well.” Billy allowed his lip to tug up, since he was pretty damn good at his job. He then winced and picked up the cat who was trying to walk up his bare legs, deposited her to the side, and continued:

“The tap connects to a recording device, where you listen to his live calls and tape them at the same time. It can connect to your home phone. I have one and I’ll keep monitoring his calls, but I have an extra one for you too. Since you know what you’re listening for.”

 _“Oh swell,”_ Goodnight said. _“How does it work?”_

“Well there are two settings,” Billy said. “You have to…actually it’ll probably be easier if I just show you how it works.”

There was another pause, and then Goodnight was saying hesitantly: _“Look, have you eaten yet?”_

Billy blinked, and before he could reply, Goodnight continued: _“Because I’m starving and my refrigerator isn’t being much help. If you wanted to grab dinner somewhere we could meet up and you could show me then.”_

Billy paused. He hadn’t meant show Goodnight right now, but he glanced at his clock and saw it was eight o’clock, and realized that maybe he actually was hungry.

_“Or I could swing by whenever you –”_

“Dinner sounds good.”

 

*

 

Chinatown was a bustling affair, even late in the evening. Once you walked through the tall red columns, you’d become immediately engulfed in the sounds, scents, and skirmish of everyone packed tightly into the five block radius, voices raised, calling out deals from the fronts of their businesses in a mixture of unfamiliar dialects, the brightly embossed signs behind them offering little translation. Walking into the district felt like stumbling through a tear in the city’s veil, revealing a whole other universe going on behind it.

Billy was surprised Goodnight had suggested it as a meeting place. Maybe he thought Billy was Chinese and was trying to be considerate. Or maybe he just liked the food. He wouldn’t be the only one to come this far downtown for a good meal. Billy knew the restaurant Goodnight had suggested well. And though he wasn’t sure what to expect from getting dinner with a client, at least he could expect some decent food out of it.

Billy took a turn into a side street lined with Chinese lanterns. He walked down the nondescript stone steps, pushed back the beaded curtain and was instantly in a warm, almost glowing room. He stood by the fish tank at the entrance and looked around, realizing why Goodnight had probably chosen this restaurant in particular. It was broken up into a hive of private booths, separated by thick, black lacquer walls. Less chances of being overheard. Smart.

He scanned the sliding doors, wondering which one Goodnight was behind, or if Billy had arrived first. But a busboy came over telling him ‘this way’, and led Billy over to a booth at the back, knocking before opening the door. Goodnight was there already and he looked up and smiled when he saw Billy.

“Mister Rocks,” Goodnight said, standing up when Billy got inside, shaking his hand.

“Just Billy,” Billy said, sitting down across from him.

“In that case I’m just Goody,” said Goodnight sitting down too. “And thanks for meeting with me. I wasn’t sure if dinner meetings were the norm for private investigators.”

“They’re not,” Billy said, shrugging and picking up a menu. “But my fridge was in a similar state as yours.”

“Occupational hazard?” Goodnight asked, eyes twinkling, and Billy let felt an answering smile in his chest.

“I’m out a lot.”

“I know what you mean,” Goodnight said. “I feel like when I’m in the middle of a story, if I’m not eating leftovers or takeout, then I’m not eating at all.”

“Well this place can box up food to take home,” Billy said, jotting down what he wanted to order onto the sheet provided, sliding it over to Goodnight.

“Oh I know, I come here a lot too,” Goodnight said, jotting down his own order without looking at the menu. “When I first moved here I was living just a couple blocks away from Chinatown. Glad you knew the place. It’s hell to give directions to.”

Billy was about to ask how long Goodnight had lived in the city when the waiter came by. He looked at their order sheets, and immediately started asking Billy about it in Chinese. Billy just shrugged and the waiter took the paper and left.

“I’ve been coming here for years and I still can’t get them to believe I’m not actually Chinese,” Billy explained with a wry smile.

Goodnight just laughed. “Don’t take it personally. They speak to me in Chinese too.”

Billy’s smile edged into something more genuine and then there was a moment of silence while the waiter bustled back with a steaming pot of tea, still chatting away to them, whether they could respond or not.

“So you had something to show me?” Goodnight asked when he left, taking one of the smooth white cups with no handles and pouring tea into it, then passing the cup to Billy.

Billy nodded and reached into his coat pocket, pulling out the extra phone tap he’d gotten from Vasquez. His was already on his home phone, the other, of course, hidden on the CEO’s office phone. He placed it behind the teapot where no one coming in would be able to see it.

“Like I said, it attaches to your home phone,” Billy explained, showing him the clasp. “It’s synched to the CEO’s phone already. Your phone will ring for both his calls and yours, but the green light will only flash when it’s his, so make sure you check the light before picking up.”

“Will do,” Goodnight said, eyeing the tap intently. “You mentioned it can record?”

Billy showed him which buttons to press to listen to a call live and which one to record, passing him a blank tape at the same time. Goodnight practiced once just to show he got it, and then slid them discreetly towards himself, placing them in his briefcase.

“I’ll be listening on my end,” Billy said, finally taking a sip of his tea, black leaves floating on the surface, the flakes tickling his lips. “But you should be doing it too. We’ll wait to hear about that package you said he gets, and take the next step then.”

“Thanks again,” Goodnight said, saluting Billy with his teacup.

There was a moment of silence again, now that business was out of the way. Billy realized with nothing else of the case to discuss, he had no idea what to say. And they still had a full dinner to go.

“You said you’re from Louisiana?” he finally asked, the question sounding abrupt to him, but Goodnight didn’t seem to find it so.

“Yep, moved here in my twenties,” Goodnight said. “Had dreams of being a bigshot reporter in the big city, and actually managed to get a decent job right away. Didn’t realize what a huge break that was since it was what I’d been expecting in the first place.”

He laughed, shaking his head at his own youthful entitlement, taking a sip of tea.

“Worked there for a few years and it was a good gig. But then the newspaper went under, and since I had nothing else going on, I decided to join the military. You know, as you do.”

Billy snorted, and Goodnight relaxed into his story.

“Anyways, did that for about eight years and nothing really exciting happened until I got injured and received my honourable discharge, and moved back to the city and began reporting again, this time for The Times.”

“Which is around the time the story of the military cover up broke,” Billy said, testing the waters.

Goodnight nodded. He seemed to have let his casual demeanor slip off his shoulders, now that he’d gotten the progression of his career out of the way.

“The higher up you go, the more intel you’re privy to. And I don’t think it needs to be said that there’s a fair amount of intel the military is not so keen on getting out to the public.”

Goodnight paused and took a sip of tea, eyes far away.

“I happened to come across one particular piece of intel that the military wanted to keep from getting out at all costs. Civilians were involved. Would have been a disaster if it had come out, and the military’s job was pretty clear: bury it.”

Billy had been listening intently and he leaned forward just the slightest bit.

“But you didn’t.”

Goodnight’s eyes flicked back to him, and the smallest of smiles licked at the corner of his mouth.

“No. I didn’t.”

Billy’s mouth turned up too and they stared at each other a moment longer.

And then the waiter was back and setting out the food, crispy orange beef for Billy, sweet and sour chicken for Goodnight, fried rice for both. The plates were enormous.

They started eating, attention on the food, and it gave Billy a chance to silently reflect on the new side of Goodnight Robicheaux he was getting. He seemed much more tempered than when Billy had first met him. That Goodnight Robicheaux had come all but swanning into Billy’s office, selling his case with the flair of a circus master and the smile of a travelling salesman. Not that he’d seemed disingenuous, but there was certainly a reporter’s practiced patter about him.

He was still animated now, but whereas it had been all sparklers and pyrotechnics before, his spark had now flickered into the smooth, rippling lines of a candle flame. Warm, unassuming, but with just enough magnetism to keep you staring.

Billy had been intrigued by the Goodnight Robicheaux who’d first walked into his office. But he found himself liking this one a lot more already.

“I reread that article the other night,” Billy admitted, after they’d taken their first bites.

“Did you?” Goodnight asked, glancing up. “Don’t suppose you found it treasonous too?”

He’d said it jokingly, but Billy didn’t miss the tension in his shoulders as the man pretended to sort out his chopsticks.

“No,” Billy said. He hadn’t at the time, and he didn’t now. He took a bite of beef. “I am surprised you weren’t court martialed though.”

“Well it wasn’t technically illegal,” Goodnight said. “Believe me, I made damn sure to cover all my bases before publishing.”

“Still,” Billy said chewing. “I’d have thought you’d gone to court at least.”

“Yeah well, I had a good lawyer. Didn’t even end up making it to a trial. Actually what am I thinking, you would know him,” Goodnight said suddenly. “Sam Chisolm? You did some investigating for him once.”

Billy glanced up in surprise. He remembered Sam Chisolm very well. It had been a quick case, a straightforward background check for him. He hadn’t gotten to know Sam that much, but had liked him well enough. Yeah, he remembered Sam Chisolm. But…

“I couldn’t confirm whether he was a client or not,” Billy said with an intentionally prim shrug. “Confidentiality clause.”

“Drop the veil,” Goodnight said grinning. “He was the one who referred you to me.”

Billy felt a smile coming on and he reached out for his tea. “Well I’m still not saying we’ve met. But tell him I say hi.”

Goodnight laughed. “I will. He said you were good.”

Billy looked down into his plate of food, biting back the smile that was still threatening to make an appearance.

“You know all about my job,” Goodnight said. “But what about you? How long have you been a private investigator?”

And so Billy told Goodnight about his job while they ate, how he’d almost fallen into it by accident after moving to this city, finding out things that people didn’t want found out, discovered a knack for it, and eleven years ago managed to start his own business. Goodnight seemed genuinely fascinated and Billy warmed up while he talked, telling Goodnight about some of his more idiotic clients, the strangest cases he’d ever had, and his go-to methods. When he told Goodnight about getting into the company while posed as a mailman, Goodnight laughed so hard he choked on his rice.

They ended up practically clearing this place out, and Billy couldn’t remember the last time he’d talked for so long with someone he’d only met recently. But he’d had a good time and he knew it.

The waiter came by and they both asked to get the rest of their food boxed up. The waiter set down one bill and two fortune cookies. Billy reached for the bill but Goodnight took it away.

“No you don’t. My treat.”

“You don’t have to –”

“You were meeting me about my case, that makes it my dinner,” Goodnight told him with a smile.

Billy shrugged his acquiescence and took one of the fortune cookies instead, leaning back in the booth to crack it open.

“Well?” Goodnight asked as he counted out bills, raising his eyebrows towards Billy’s cookie. “Is the future looking auspicious?”

Billy smiled and slid out the thin papery strip, squinting in the low lighting of the booth.

“It is much wiser to take advice than to give it,” he read aloud and then snorted. “Isn’t that a bit contradictory?”

Goodnight laughed and cracked open his own.

“You dwell in possibility,” he read with a dramatic inflection, and then stared at the paper a moment longer. “Well that was anticlimactic.”

Billy broke off a piece of fortune cookie with his thumb and nibbled at it, and they sat in silence, waiting for their boxed up food to arrive.

“You know,” Billy started, thinking about Goodnight’s fortune. “You said you’d done a lot of research about the case already, and that you can already prove there’s been wrongdoing. You just need enough proof to show the CEO knew about it.”

“Yeah?”

“Well,” Billy said, breaking off another piece of fortune cookie. “You don’t know for sure he knows about it, do you?”

“He _has_ to,” Goodnight said, narrowing his eyes slightly. “How could he not?”

“I believe you,” Billy said, not wanting to end what had been a surprisingly pleasant evening by getting Goodnight’s hackles up. “But I’m just saying…you’re hoping to find dirt so you can prove it came from the top. You’re wanting to find facts to suit your theory, and not a theory to suit your facts.”

Goodnight sat up straight, the slightly defensive look morphing into something amused.

“Ah…a fan of Holmes, are you?”

“Who?” Billy asked.

Goodnight laughed out loud. “Who? You just sat there and quoted Sherlock Holmes to me practically verbatim. I should have guessed you’d be a fan.”

Billy almost blushed. Okay maybe he _had_ read some of the stories with a sense of professional curiosity, finding them mostly very boring apart from the occasional good quote. He hadn’t reckoned on Goodnight being able to identify that one right off the bat. But he already knew Goodnight was a literary sort and supposed he should assumed.

“Is that why you’re a private investigator?” Goodnight asked teasingly. “You wanted to be Sherlock Holmes when you grew up, didn’t you?”

“Actually, I wanted to be Miss Marple,” Billy deadpanned, popping the rest of his fortune cookie into his mouth. Goodnight laughed out loud.

The waiter came by with their food packed up and they stood up to go, walking out of the restaurant and past the fish tank, leaving the calm music behind and re-entering the alley outside.

“You’re right, you know,” Goodnight said suddenly, putting on his trench coat as they stood there on the sidewalk lit up by lanterns. “About my not having proof yet.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Billy said quickly, putting on his own black jacket as they walked back toward the main street. It had rained at some point during dinner and the alley was damp with puddles, the lights from the street beyond reflected in their surfaces.

“I know I’m just hoping there’ll be evidence to pin on him, but…”

Goodnight had trailed off and stopped walking, just before they were about to hit the bustle of the main street. Billy turned to face him in the alley.

“But don’t you ever get a hunch?” Goodnight asked suddenly. He turned to meet Billy’s eyes, and Billy felt pinned by his gaze. Half of Goodnight’s face was obscured by the alley’s shadows, but the other half lit up yellow by the lanterns outside the restaurant, his eyes bright and intent in their glow.

“Yeah,” Billy said. “I do.”

They stood like that for several seconds more on the dimly lit side street, until someone on a bike came rushing past them, startling them both back into the present.

“Well. Thanks for meeting with me,” Goodnight said, extending his hand and Billy shook it.

“Thanks for dinner,” Billy answered. He held onto Goodnight’s hand a moment longer, the skin warm against his. Goodnight smiled and they let go, stepping back into the tide of people in Chinatown’s main strip. Goodnight tipped his hat at Billy and walked away, the back of his coat soon swallowed up by the crowd.

Having missed the last night bus, Billy elected to walk home. It was a long walk but he was distracted enough that he didn’t notice the length. He felt a low energy thrumming through him that didn’t dissipate, even when he reached his building.

The cat was on the front step and perked up when she saw who it was.

“How was your evening?” Billy asked her, giving her a scritch. She purred and he picked her up, carrying her inside, electing to take the elevator tonight, still lost in his thoughts.

They went inside and he plunked the cat down, taking out one of his bowls and leaving a couple pieces of gluey orange beef for her to work on, put the rest of the leftovers in the fridge, and walked into his bedroom. He undressed, leaving his clothes on the mattress.

 _I’ll do the laundry tomorrow_ , he thought, settling in. His gaze fell on his nightstand, and to the newspaper that was still lying there from when he’d been reading Goodnight’s article. He traced the text with a finger, as though he could conjure up Goodnight’s voice out of the printed words.

He got into bed, but continued to stare at the corner of the paper that curved over his nightstand. He gazed at the print with heavy eyes until the black type started to ripple and swim together, swirling around him in a vortex of inky darkness, and his eyes were slowly pulled shut.

 

*

 

A couple days later Billy was in his apartment catching up on paperwork. He hadn’t wanted to stray too far from his phone in case the CEO got a call that was significant. So far none of them had been: just general managerial calls, making appointments, and the like. Billy was almost going out of his mind with boredom, but he kept a log of it all anyways, just in case.

He also hadn’t been sure if Goodnight would call as well. Not that Billy was expecting him to, no reason he would. But since the man’s case was taking precedence over all of Billy’s other ones, he wanted to be in just in case.

So housebound as he was, Billy was taking the opportunity to rearrange his files, and keeping an eye on the phone, and trying not to go too stir crazy.

The phone rang and Billy gave it a glance, noting the green light on the tapping device that told him it was the CEO’s phone getting a call. Billy hit record on reflex and picked up the phone, absently sorting his papers all the while.

_“It’s me.”_

Billy immediately snapped to attention, every investigator’s instinct on high alert telling him this was _the_ call. He carefully put his files to the side, pulled a notepad towards himself, ears straining.

 _“Go,”_ came the CEO’s voice that Billy had become so accustomed to after two days of eavesdropping.

 _“Dropoff this afternoon. Five PM,”_ said the rough voice on the other end.

_“Good. Don’t be late.”_

_“Don’t be out,”_ the voice shot back, and there was a click and then the dial tone buzzing in Billy’s ear.

Billy slowly lowered the handset back into the receiver, breathing controlled. Only a few words exchanged and he still felt like he’d just run a marathon listening to them. He scribbled out a note onto his pad and then reached excitedly towards the phone again. And no sooner had his finger touched the dial than the phone was ringing again, the receiver vibrating in his palm. No green light. It was for Billy.

“Hello?”

 _“Did you just hear that?”_ came Goodnight’s voice in excitement.

“I was just calling you,” Billy said, adrenaline pumping too. “Sounds like what we’re after.”

 _“Either that or that guy is the most sinister delivery man of all time,”_ Goodnight quipped. _“What’ll you do?”_

“Stake out the place, get a shot of the handoff if I can,” Billy said. “Even if it’s not enough to incriminate by itself, it’ll at least help us in IDing the CEO’s contact. We can go from there.”

 _“You don’t think the handoff will happen in the CEO’s office?”_ Goodnight asked.

Billy shook his head, adding, “I don’t,” remembering Goodnight couldn’t see him. “If he uses the same contact each time it would draw too much attention to always have him coming up to the office. They’ll do it downstairs. Publically.”

_“Good point, Miss Marple.”_

Billy let his eyes close briefly.

“You know I was kidding about that, don’t you?”

_“If you say so.”_

Billy’s lips tugged up. “I’ll keep you posted.”

_“Thanks. Let me know.”_

Billy hung up and then reached for the phone tap, pressing the button to play the last recording. Five PM. He glanced in the mirror and ran a hand critically through his tangled hair. He had work to do.

 

*

 

In the golden hour of the early evening, as the heat of the day was slowly starting to leach from the pavement, Billy was standing on the sidewalk a little ways away from the company, a large camera in between his hands.

He looked down at himself, pleased with the look: buffed leather shoes, slim pants, chic coat, glasses, hair piled up into a glossy bun with a silver pin stuck through it, and a pocket full of business cards that all read ‘William Yu – Fashion Photographer’. What other profession could allow you to linger on the street for hours on end with a camera?

Being a man in the private investigation business, Billy had certain advantages. The biggest was his ability to infiltrate places unnoticed: janitor, delivery man, driver…there was a world of invisible disguises at his disposal that a woman wouldn’t have been able to don.

But when it came to surveillance or tailing a mark, the female PI had her own advantages too. A man lingering on a street corner invited questions. A woman, however, can window shop, read on a bench, and generally just linger as long as she liked without arousing any suspicion. So when it came to excuses for loitering, Billy had needed to get creative. And this current disguise was one of his proudest ideas yet.

“Excuse me ma’am, but I take photos for Mode fashion magazine, and we’re doing a spread on exceptional street style, such as yours. Would you mind if I took your photo for our magazine?”

Almost no one said no to that one.

Billy snapped a photo of his latest decoy – a young woman in a canary yellow scarf – and handed her his card. She continued her way down the street looking surprised but pleased. Billy wound up the film in the camera. He’d been doing this for two hours already, as though he was photographing the afternoon work crowd. And so far he hadn’t attracted any suspicion. The pharmaceutical company was on such a swanky block that its traversers found it only too natural that someone would wish to photograph them.

Billy discreetly checked his watch. It was nearing five. He kept an eye on everyone going in and out of the building, but so far none had pinged his radar. He glanced back up at the revolving doors to the lobby and saw something that made him take notice.

The CEO’s private secretary, stepping outside onto the sidewalk pulling a pack of cigarettes out of her handbag and lighting up, lighter between her gloved hands.

Billy took a step closer and watched as she took a long drag and look both ways up and down the street, letting a stream of smoked escape her brightly painted lips.

Billy made sure his camera was primed. He wasn’t sure what this was yet, but it was something.

The receptionist looked up and down the street again. Definitely waiting for someone. And that made sense. Billy had told Goodnight the CEO’s contact would be unlikely to regularly make the very visible trip through the offices, and he was sure that wouldn’t have happened. But also how likely was it the CEO would come down to the street himself? Billy knew the CEO had his own secretary, and should have guessed.

He asked for a photo of a flattered pedestrian, still keeping up his cover. He glanced at the secretary again, who had now put on a pair of cat’s-eyes sunglasses against the sun that had dipped a bit lower between the concrete buildings.

And then there, out of the glare, Billy saw him. The contact, walking down the street.

Billy didn’t know why he was so suddenly sure this pedestrian was their guy. Other than his very lithic features there was nothing remarkable about him. But all his instincts as a detective were on high alert. And when the man reached the secretary, those instincts lit up like a silent siren.

A few words exchanged on both sides, just a passerby asking for directions from a woman on her smoke break. The most innocuous thing in the world. Such an ordinary, everyday event, no one would have been suspecting the man to pull a large manila envelope out of his pocket.

No one except Billy. And raising the camera to his eyes he centered the lens on the large brown paper envelope. And the moment it touched the woman’s gloved hands, Billy pressed the shutter.

A click, lost in a swarming sea of pedestrians. An envelope disappearing into a pocketbook. What would have been one of trillions of ephemeral moments, now locked inside Billy’s camera.

Billy stayed on that block for another half hour after the man had continued down the street and the woman had dropped her cigarette to the pavement, turning to go back inside the building. He didn’t want to leave the post he’d established too abruptly, and he made himself count the minutes even though he was buzzing with the chase. But after thirty minutes he turned and put as many blocks between himself and the company as he could.

Rounding the corner, Billy came across a corner store advertising a payphone in the back. He went in, walked briskly past the shelves of canned food, and fit himself into the cramped booth. He deposited his change and lifted the receiver, twisting his arm at an awkward angle to dial Goodnight’s number which he had memorized by now. He waited impatiently while it rang.

 _“Hello?”_ Goodnight picked up.

“It’s Billy. I got a picture.”

Billy heard an intake of breath. _“You did? And?”_

“He sent his secretary down and a man met her on the street. Short, I think he was bald under the hat…if I show you the photo could you ID him?”

 _“Maybe,”_ Goodnight said eagerly. _“Where are you now? Can you come over?”_

“I could but I need to go home and develop the film first,” Billy said reluctantly. He felt just as restless as Goodnight sounded. But then he heard Goodnight’s next words:

_“Investigative journalist here, Miss Marple. I have my own darkroom.”_

“You’re joking.”

_“I never joke about lightproof rooms.”_

Billy told him where he was and Goodnight told him what bus to take. Billy left the store and got on one of the many rickety city busses, taking a seat on the wooden bench which rattled and bumped as the bus took him further and further downtown.

Het got off on a corner in a rougher part of town than he’d been expecting. Goodnight’s building was nice though, an old brownstone block of apartments, and once he was buzzed in, Billy took the stairs up to Goodnight’s floor.

Goodnight was opening his apartment door just as Billy was walking down the hall, and Goodnight did a double take when he saw him.

“Christ, you look sharp.”

Billy looked down, and remembered he was still in his most fashion-forward disguise.

“William Yu, fashion photographer at your service,” Billy joked, but Goodnight was still looking him up and down looking a little dazed. “I know, it looks weird.”

“It really doesn’t,” Goodnight said shaking his head, and then he seemed to collect himself and gave Billy a grin. “Fashion photographer, you say? Snap any promising outfits today?”

“We’ll see,” Billy said feeling a grin of his own coming on. “So where’s this darkroom?”

Goodnight held the door open for Billy. “It’s basic but it works. Used to be a room for the washer and dryer, but I go to the laundromat now. Worth it.”

They walked through Goodnight’s apartment, Billy barely looking at the décor, eager to get the film developed. Goodnight led Billy inside the darkroom and showed him his set-up. And then they worked together in easy silence like they’d been doing it for years, occasionally asking each other for the chemicals or for the pair of tongs.

They stood side-by-side and watched the photo paper swimming in the chemicals, and Billy was suddenly aware of how close they were standing. He hadn’t noticed from how seamlessly they’d been working together, but it was not a room built for two. And now that they weren’t working, he was all too aware of Goodnight against his side, the sound of their clothes brushing together distinct in the silence.

Billy cleared his throat and looked into one of the trays, seeing the shadows on the photo start to take form. He hung the dripping photo up on the line, and they watched as two people started to emerge from the dim background.

“That’s him,” Billy said, once the figure of the CEO’s contact became clear. It was a good shot if Billy did say so himself, the man transferring the large envelope over while looking around, the secretary’s taking it, both their hands on the envelope clear as day.

Goodnight was staring at the photo. “Yeah. Yeah I recognize him. Name of Bryant, criminal record. He works in the company’s lab. I went there one time, pretending I was writing a feature on lab safety. Ray of sunshine, isn’t he?”

Billy snorted, the man’s jaw looking like a granite slab, even in the photograph. “So he’s the CEO’s guy?”

“Yeah, I’d been suspecting him of altering the quantities of meds coming from the labs here. Managed to find some paper trails that directly contradicted each other, his signature on one of them. The math for the meds wasn’t adding up, but I couldn’t find the reason why. Mostly since I couldn’t get access to phones.”

Goodnight laughed and Billy felt him glance over in his direction.

“But since I’ve got you now, maybe we’ll find out tonight.”

Billy looked back and in the dim room he could just make out Goodnight’s lips curved into a smile, inches from his own. Billy felt like he was watching the film develop all over again, the image of Goodnight’s face swimming, swimming in the dark, shadows tickling the edge of his face, his face that was getting clearer and clearer the closer it came…

The phone rang outside the room, snapping Billy out of it. They hustled to get out of the room quickly, to see if it was a call to or from the CEO.

It wasn’t. There was no green light on the phone tap Billy had set Goodnight up with, and Goodnight picked up his call, arguing to someone on the other end, presumably about work. Billy heard ‘deadline’ come up a few times but he wasn’t really paying attention. His head was still spinning from the atmosphere in the small room, the shift to the light of Goodnight’s living room almost harsh by contrast, like he was being exposed in its glare.

Billy took the opportunity to collect himself, and gazed around Goodnight’s apartment. It was smaller than Billy’s, not too fancy, but decorated much better. Billy couldn’t be bothered to paint or arrange furniture. The act of home improvement bored him so profoundly that his apartment had kept the same paintjob and layout since he’d first moved in. It was a pretty good place already, a modern design that got a lot of light, but it didn’t really suggest any of Billy’s tastes.

Goodnight’s living room had taste all over it though. The walls were a clean cream, but decorated with all kinds frames displaying black and white photos, both glossy and grainy. Billy eyed one of a landscape taken between a plane’s propellers. He suspected Goodnight had taken it, and many of the others himself. The assortment of photos gave the walls a kind of stylized organization. The room itself, however, was fairly messy, but a comfortable, worked-in kind of messy, various green plants spilling out of their corners.

He continued poking around, looking at the various knick-knacks Goodnight must have picked up from his travels. There was a globe in one corner and large mahogany bookcase in the other that seemed to shelve everything from leatherbound poetry anthologies to tattered, brightly-coloured sci-fi paperbacks, the only hierarchy in evidence being alphabetical.

He glanced back at Goodnight who had just hung up with an apologetic look.

“Tried to get rid of him as fast as I could. I know the CEO will be making his call soon.”

“It’s okay,” Billy said. “He’ll probably only call once everyone else has left the building.”

There was a pause while they stood there at opposite ends of the living room.

“This is a nice place,” Billy finally said awkwardly, still unsure as to what had passed in the darkroom. Actually no, he knew exactly what had passed. He’d wanted to kiss Goodnight, which wasn’t really a surprising thought when all was said and done. Nor was it surprising that Goodnight seemed to be similarly inclined, something he’d already suspected. Like tends to recognize like, after all.

But if the phone hadn’t rung, would one of them have actually leaned in to close the gap? It wasn’t that Billy had any moral qualms about mixing business and pleasure, nothing like that. But now pleasure and business were so entangled in this unusual and appealing case with an even more unusual and appealing man, and Billy didn’t know how to look at them separately anymore.

 _Some detective you are_ , thought Billy ruefully.

Goodnight was walking across the room to open some windows.

“Thanks,” he said. “Only been here a few years but it does the trick. Can’t say it gets much of a breeze in the summer though.”

“It’s okay,” Billy said, even though he was loosening his starched, fashionably-cut collar. He hadn’t noticed, absorbed as they’d been in the dark room, but it was as sweltering a day as ever.

Just then the phone shrilled. The green light was on. They looked at the phone, back at each other, and then both scrambled over to the phone on the coffee table, sinking to the floor, their knees hitting the thick rug.

Goodnight placed a hand over the receiver, Billy’s finger hovered over the ‘record’ button, and on Billy’s nod Goodnight picked up the phone, angling it towards Billy so he could lean in and listen too, their heads practically pressed together.

_“It’s Bryant.”_

_“Finally,”_ said the CEO’s voice. _“Been stuck in my office all evening waiting for your call.”_

 _“Sorry,”_ the other contact said, not sounding sorry at all. _“You know how it is. Couldn’t get away until now. You have the info though?”_

 _“Right here.”_ There was a shuffling of papers.

_“Alright go.”_

The CEO coughed, and then said in a clear voice: _“Chloroquine production currently at four thousand. Decrease to three thousand in data files. Raise price two cents a unit.”_

_“Got it. Next.”_

_“Mefloquine production currently at eight thousand. Decrease to six thousand in data files. Raise price five cents a unit.”_

_“Next.”_

It went on like that for some time. Billy understood they were creating the appearance of a shortage in drugs, thereby allowing them to raise the price in distribution. The rest was gibberish to him though.

Goodnight, however, listened intently, writing down every last detail on a notepad, in a sloping shorthand. He didn’t need to seem to even look at the paper for his writing to stay printer straight. Billy stayed absolutely quiet, focused on the voices in the receiver, the scratch of Goodnight’s pen, and the sound the phone receiver made when it rubbed up against their hair.

_“Alright, got it. Reading it back to you. Chloroquine production –"_

And so it continued over again. Goodnight held his notepad up, following along with their confirmations too, silently mouthing the orders to himself.

And then finally, their dereliction complete, the men hung up, and so did Goodnight and Billy, both controlling their breathing, and looking at each other elatedly from where they were still kneeling on the rug.

“He must keep his files in his office,” Goodnight said, his voice eager.

Billy nodded. The man had been reading that data off of something, and there was no way he’d carry around papers that sensitive.

“Did you notice a safe there? Do you think you get copies?”

Billy thought about it. He did have an idea of where a safe might be, and he was pretty sure he could break in. He nodded again slowly.

“I’ll break in. Two nights from now.”

Goodnight looked as thrilled as he’d expected. What he wasn’t expecting were Goodnight’s next words:

“You have to let me come with you.”

Billy raised an eyebrow to hide how taken aback he felt.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“Why not?” Goodnight demanded. “You never know, you might need someone to watch your back. I could keep a lookout or something.”

“But you’re a…” Billy paused. He’d been about to say ‘civilian’ and then he remembered Goodnight’s military history made him anything but. Still though. It was one thing to do research, and collect data together. It would be quite another to bring Goodnight along with him on a break in.

“It’s one thing if I get caught,” Billy said instead. “No one can trace me back to you, and you can still keep your story. But if you get caught? It would corrupt the integrity of your entire case.”

“That’ll be on me,” Goodnight said, eyes and voice determined.

Billy hesitated. It _could_ be useful to have Goodnight with him. Goodnight had been researching this story longer, and if they found a lot of material in the CEO’s safe, then Goodnight would have a better idea of what they were looking for. But…

“It’s your story,” Billy said. “You sure you want to risk it?”

“It’s all a risk,” Goodnight said, eyes still piercing Billy with the concentration and resolve in them. Billy stared into them.

“Okay,” Billy said slowly, and even though it wasn’t the reason he’d agreed, the spark of excitement in Goodnight’s eyes warmed him.

They got to their feet and Billy glanced outside, realizing dusk had fallen without him noticing. His knees were sore from how long they’d been sitting on the carpet.

“I should head home,” Billy said. “It’s late.”

“Or you could stay.”

Billy took a moment to register the words which seemed to bolt through him in a flash, putting him instantly on alert. He flicked his eyes up to Goodnight’s for any sign that he was joking, but Goodnight was standing there, completely serious. His voice had been light, quiet, but his eyes were still as intent as ever.

“Stay in the case the CEO gets another call?” Billy asked carefully, testing the waters, giving Goodnight an out in case he wanted one.

Goodnight shook his head.

“No.”

They stood there on opposite sides of the coffee table, this thing they’d been dancing around lying between them, waiting for Billy to pick it up. If he wanted to.

Goodnight started to look uncertain.

“Unless I’ve got the wrong end of the stick here…”

His words had trailed off because Billy had taken a step towards him. Billy slid an arm experimentally around Goodnight’s waist. And when Goodnight took in a breath at the touch, Billy reeled him in the rest of the way and kissed him.

Goodnight met the kiss instantly, tilting his head and leaning in closer to Billy, fingers tracing Billy’s neck. His lips were warm and Billy kissed him with more force, Goodnight’s mouth opening for his. He pulled Goodnight in even closer, tingling at the feeling of their bodies pressed flushed together.

A low heat was buzzing through Billy the longer he kissed Goodnight. It had been a while and he’d almost forgotten how good it could feel to have someone’s skin against his, warm beneath the clothes between them. Goodnight was a good kisser, and Billy could lose himself fully in the moment, the way you could when someone’s lips are on the same page as yours, no awkwardly placed teeth or tongues.

Goodnight’s kisses were becoming more fervent, tongue sliding intoxicatingly against Billy’s, and Billy shuddered, hands sliding down to Goodnight’s hips which lifted into his.

Billy broke off to kiss the side of Goodnight’s neck, a flush of arousal breaking out over him for the low sounds in Goodnight’s throat that went buzzing through his lips.

“God you’re so gorgeous,” Goodnight breathed, a hand sliding up tentatively through Billy’s hair, stroking the strands.

Billy didn’t have anything to say to that, so he leaned back up to kiss Goodnight hard on the mouth, Goodnight responding in kind, their kisses becoming less experimental, and laced with something more like intent.

It was confirmed when Billy broke away from Goodnight’s lips, both of them panting a little. Billy’s eyes flicked up to Goodnight’s which were as hungry as Billy felt. Billy’s lips were buzzing, and the way Goodnight licked his own sent a fire straight to Billy’s groin, a burning flush breaking out over his skin.

“You look so good in these clothes I almost don’t want to take them off you,” Goodnight joked, but it lost some of its effect with the way Goodnight was breathing heavily, his hair mussed, lips kissed red, fingers trailing their way towards Billy’s chest.

“Then let me help you out,” Billy said against his lips, and he reached up to unbutton his shirt. Goodnight laughed and reached for his tie.

They hurriedly removed the rest of their clothes, kissing all the while, kicking off their pants and shoes until both were left in just their shorts, and Billy had the laughably obvious thought of _‘This is actually happening’_ before they were reaching back out for each other and pulling each other close into a hot, heavy kiss, all hesitation dropped.

Billy panted against Goodnight’s lips, that mouth already feeling like the world’s most intoxicating haven, warm and slick against his lips. He backed Goodnight up until Goodnight’s legs hit the sofa and he went down, Billy helping matters along by pushing Goodnight back into the couch and crawling over him. He reached between Goodnight’s legs to cup him through the thin boxer shorts. Goodnight cursed, hips jumping up into Billy’s hand. Billy squeezed, rolling the hard flesh around in his palm, fingers rubbing against a growing damp spot in the fabric, almost unbearably turned on.

“You know,” Goodnight said breathing hard, eyes dark, running his hands across Billy’s chest, sliding them down to the waistband of Billy’s boxers. “I do have a bed in the other room.”

“Good to know,” Billy said in a rough voice. And then he was peeling down the waistband of Goodnight’s shorts, Goodnight doing the same to his until at last they were pressed together skin to skin, Billy ducking his head to kiss Goodnight again. And those were the last words anyone spoke for a while.

Billy hadn’t messed around on a couch with anyone in quite some time. There was something almost juvenile about it, the adolescent grappling of wandering hands, hungry mouths, straining hips, their tangled limbs blanketed by their heavy breathing. But there was nothing juvenile about the firm, twisting hand Goodnight took on them both, lengths pressed flush, and nothing innocent about the slide of their tongues as they pressed together harder, hips bucking as they chased their release.

At one point the force of their thrusts caused them to fall off the couch to the carpet, both letting out surprised _oomphs_. But Billy didn’t let it break their momentum for a second. He pushed Goodnight back against the carpet, kissed the laugh out of Goodnight’s mouth, and his hand joined Goodnight’s grip on them, both of them bringing each other off hard and fast. Goodnight’s length was straining against his and finally Goodnight clenched his teeth, threw his head back against the carpet, and was coming over both their hands, his whole body arched and taut in pleasure, damp chest rising and falling. Billy gasped, shook the hair out of his eyes so he could properly enjoy that view, his hand a blur on himself, the pressure building low in his groin.

“C’mon, darlin’,” Goodnight murmured leaning up on his elbows and reaching for Billy face, pulling him in and kissing him open-mouthed, tongue hot against him.

And with what felt like a punch to the gut his climax hit him and he was coming over Goodnight’s chest, Goodnight murmuring encouragements against his lips all the while.

“God,” Billy gasped as he finally broke away from Goodnight’s lips, squeezing himself for a few more slow strokes, Goodnight’s eyes dark at the last beads of liquid that slid down Billy’s length.

“My thoughts exactly,” Goodnight said panting, reaching out to stroke Billy’s hip which was still quivering with minute jerks. Billy let out a long slow breath, and every limb feeling weak, collapsed back onto Goodnight in a heap of sweaty, sticky limbs.

They lay there for an indeterminable amount of time, Billy getting his breath back, dimly enjoying the hand that was stroking through his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp. His face was buried in Goodnight’s neck and he breathed in the sweaty, musky scent, running a hand down Goodnight’s leg.

After a while they were collected enough to move, Goodnight shifting beneath Billy’s weight, the movement rubbing up against Billy, causing Billy to stir between his legs again. He leaned up to take in Goodnight who looked completely fucked out, hair in total disarray where it had been rubbing against the carpet, lips slick and shining. Those lips curved into a smile at Billy and Billy felt that low throb between his legs pulse all the more, pressed as he was against Goodnight’s thigh.

“Well that was fun,” Goodnight said in joking understatement, his voice still a little breathless. He reached up to run a hand through the stickiness on his chest, letting out a shiver as he did so. Billy would have responded but the sight had just about fried his circuits.

“Can’t honestly say I was expecting that to happen when I first met you,” Goodnight continued panting. He sent a low grin at Billy. “Sure as hell didn’t stop me from imagining it though.”

Billy let out a huff of laughter, and then the image of Goodnight getting himself off to Billy entered his head so vividly his laugh tapered off into a moan, and he dipped his head to kiss Goodnight, growing achingly hard again.

Goodnight let out a groan and every muscle in his body seemed to melt as Billy’s weight pushed him back into the carpet. He wrapped his arms around Billy’s neck, one hand trailing down to grip Billy’s ass, and Billy was unable to help from thrusting instinctively between his warm thighs, each stroke bringing him closer to the cleft of Goodnight’s ass. Goodnight opened his eyes a crack to show two hungry, dazed, strips of blue.

“Think it’s time I showed you that bed,” he said in a husky voice that lit Billy’s every nerve on fire. He nodded and sat back on his heels, letting Goodnight up to show him the way.

 

*

 

Billy woke up the next morning, almost forgetting where he was. Then he slowly registered the warmth pressed against him from Goodnight while he slept, and the previous night came flooding back to him.

He and Goodnight rutting against each other on the couch, falling to the carpet and continuing there. Letting himself be pulled into Goodnight’s bedroom where he’d fucked Goodnight on his mattress, one time hard and intent, and then once more in the middle of the night, slower and sleepier, Goodnight’s hands running through his hair, Goodnight shuddering, Goodnight’s eyes clenched shut while he came.

It was probably the best sex Billy had had in years. It was also the only sex Billy had had in years, but the point still stood. It hadn’t been without the normal awkward moments of trying to find a rhythm with a new partner, both a little hesitant about their actions when Billy first started to slowly press his way inside Goodnight. But then it had smoothed out, sensation melting into a searing heat as Billy began to thrust, losing himself to the tight heat inside Goodnight.

Billy stretched, limbs sore from their activities on the carpet. He checked the time on the old-fashioned alarm clock on Goodnight’s nightstand. Late morning. He sighed. He wasn’t late for anything, but he did have things to go take care of if he wanted them to be ready for the break-in.

He looked down at Goodnight, unwilling to wake him. Goodnight was curled up in the sheets, breathing steadily, one arm tucked under himself, the other splayed awkwardly on the mattress as though it had been resting over Billy and had slid off at some point in the night. Billy smiled and then had to remind himself to get the dopey look off his face when Goodnight woke up. Billy didn’t know if this was a one-night-stand or what, but it wouldn’t do to push his luck. He reached out and gently shook Goodnight’s shoulder.

“Mmm,” Goodnight said after a few tries, mumbling something incoherent as he buried his face into the mattress. Billy squeezed Goodnight’s shoulder again, and Goodnight turned to face him, eyes adjusting to the late morning light.

“Hi,” Billy said inanely while Goodnight blinked Billy into view.

“Mornin’,” Goodnight said in a throaty, sleep-roughened voice. He cleared his throat and sat up on his elbow a bit to look at Billy properly, something soft tucked into the smile he gave him. “How’d you sleep?”

“Good,” Billy said, which was an understatement. He never usually slept that well in a place that wasn’t his own. “You?”

“Never better,” Goodnight said, that smile turning into something almost insinuating.

Billy felt himself stir, but giving in to those lips now would be a really good way to never leave the bed. He steeled himself.

“I have to get going,” Billy said reluctantly. “If we’re going to break in tomorrow.”

Goodnight nodded, face giving nothing away. He stretched and Billy hesitated.

“Look, are you sure you still want to come?”

“Sure I’m sure,” Goodnight said, voice losing some of its sleepiness. “And if I’m sure before I’ve had coffee, then I’m definitely sure.”

He smiled at Billy who smiled back despite himself.

“Alright. Wear a suit. Dark colours.”

“You don’t have a cat burglar outfit for this kind of thing?” Goodnight asked with lazy incredulity.

Billy shook his head, hair falling across his eyes. He flicked it out of the way, saying: “If we look like we work in the building we’ll be less suspicious.”

Goodnight nodded. “Makes sense.”

“Dark colours though,” Billy repeated. Yes they needed to look legit if someone noticed them, but that didn’t mean he _wanted_ someone to notice them.

“Alright,” Goodnight said, leaning up on his elbows. “Sure you don’t want to stay for coffee?”

Billy did want to stay, for a lot more than coffee, but it was getting hard enough to peel himself away from Goodnight’s warmth as it was. He shook his head, forcing himself to keep it cool.

“I have some things to take care of,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow. There’s a café a few blocks away on twenty-seventh street. Let’s meet there at ten tomorrow night, okay?”

“Okay,” Goodnight said, eyes slipping down to Billy’s bare chest. He reached out almost absently to trace Billy’s shoulder, and Billy felt his pulse flutter. He took Goodnight’s hand gently from his shoulder, ran his thumb over his knuckles, and then kissed the hand completely on impulse. And then swung his legs off the bed to look for his clothes.

It was only when he was walking down Goodnight’s street towards the bus, the late morning sun beating down over his wrinkled suit, that he realized he’d never kissed someone’s hand before, and he’d just done that to Goodnight like some nineteenth century fop. So much for playing it cool. Goodnight probably thought he was a lunatic.

“What the hell, Rocks,” he grumbled to himself. But after a night of three spectacular orgasms he didn’t have it in him to feel too embarrassed. And with a smile tugging at his lips he straightened up and continued on his way, not even noticing the slight spring that had crept into his step.

 

*

 

Getting Vasquez to find an extra safe stethoscope for him wasn’t hard. Getting Vasquez to hand it over, however, was a different story.

“Hang on,” Vasquez said slowly, still holding onto the package that contained Billy’s new break-in tools. “Something’s different.”

“If you say so,” Billy said, reaching out for the package, but Vasquez pulled it out of his reach, a slow smile dawning on his face.

“You got laid, didn’t you?” Vasquez asked, his voice both incredulous and delighted at the same time.

“Shut up.”

“Oh my god you _did_!” Vasquez burst out gleefully. “Who the hell was it?”

“Just give it to me,” Billy said weakly, reaching out again for the package.

“Was it you saying that last night, or him?” Vasquez asked with a grin that was nothing short of evil.

“Shut _up_.” Billy glanced around quickly while Vasquez laughed. But Vasquez’s enthusiasm was infectious, and Billy found a silly grin beginning to bloom on his own lips too and he wasn’t quick enough in fighting it down.

“Billy,” Vasquez said, seeming genuinely delighted and amazed. “Never seen you like this, amigo.”

“I’m not _like_ anything, it was just sex,” Billy mumbled, not wanting Vasquez’s incorrigibly romantic side to get the better of both of them.

“And I’m just a florist,” Vasquez said unconvinced, smile still lingering, but he finally took pity and pushed the package back across the counter.

Billy left the flower shop with two picks for safe locks and a listening device under his arm, whose prices Vasquez had insisted on bumping down. He’d called it the ‘Billy got laid’ discount. Billy just counted himself lucky that Vasquez had let him escape at all.

Billy got home and began to devise a plan for the break-in. It should be simple enough, but he couldn’t concentrate. Images from the night before kept flashing through his mind: Goodnight’s fingers digging into his shoulders…Goodnight’s hair falling into his eyes...Goodnight’s throat tipped back, gasping Billy’s name when he came…

Billy muttered a curse and unbuttoned his jeans, slipping his hand into his pants, and began to stroke himself, fast and rough. It wasn’t like he was focusing anyways.

His work eventually did get done, but that night in bed he jerked off once more to memories from the previous night. He refused to feel pathetic about it, but there was no denying he could have called Goodnight and asked him to come over, or asked to go over there again. He could have, but Billy still didn’t know if it was a one-time thing. Goodnight probably met a lot of people on his travels; was probably used to brief flings. If last night was also a one-night-stand, Billy could live with that. He just couldn’t live with appearing ridiculous if he was wrong.

“Oh just get it together,” he mumbled, pulling the covers around himself. It took him a long time to fall asleep though, and when he dreamed it was of blueprints, blue eyes, locked safes that wouldn’t open, and the sense of things about to go horribly wrong.

 

*

 

It was nine-fifty when Billy stepped into the coffeeshop. Most of the diners in this neighbourhood had become more upscale to match the developing neighbourhood. But somehow this dive had clung on like a particularly stubborn piece of ivy amidst the towering flowers.

Billy pulled his gloves off and looked around the dingy booths with their peeling paintwork until he spotted Goodnight, his head down as he stirred milk into his coffee, scribbling in a notebook. Billy steeled himself and walked over, sliding into the booth across from him.

And however much he’d tried to prepare himself for seeing Goodnight again, however much he’d intended to compartmentalize the other night, he wasn’t prepared for the way his heart lurched when Goodnight looked up, face breaking into an immediate, crooked smile at him.

“Hi,” Goodnight said, closing his notebook to make more room for Billy.

“Hi,” Billy repeated, allowing himself a small smile in return.

“Glad that was you,” Goodnight said. “Been on tenterhooks over here.” He signalled the boy behind the counter for another coffee for Billy.

“You don’t look nervous,” Billy commented, and it was true. He could see Goodnight’s fingernails had been bitten to the quick, but it was the only sign of nerves that Billy could see. Goodnight was outwardly calm and composed, wearing a dark business suit just as Billy had asked.

“Well it’s exciting, isn’t it?” Goodnight said, smile reappearing. “Break ins…getting the proof…thanks again for letting me come.”

Billy still wasn’t sure about his choice to let Goodnight tag along. On the one hand, a second pair of eyes could have its uses. But on the other hand, Goodnight had been working on this story for so long, wanted the payoff so much, that Billy didn’t know if he was the type to get overeager and trip at the finish line.

“Well I hope it’s _not_ exciting,” Billy warned. “It’s a straightforward break in. No one will be around, and we have all the codes we need. No reason it shouldn’t be just in and out in twenty minutes.”

Goodnight nodded eagerly and Billy checked his watch.

“We should head over at ten-thirty. Here’s how it’s going to work.”

He talked Goodnight through his plan for the break-in. Through the private garage, up the CEO’s private elevator that led directly into his office. Billy would find the safe and work it open while Goodnight kept watch. Then they would switch positions and Billy would keep an eye out while Goodnight searched the safe, taking photos of anything he found relevant. Then they’d leave the office exactly how they found it and go back out the way they came. Break-ins, when it came down to it, didn’t need a lot of flair. You just do what needs doing, and hope no one sees you do it.

There seemed to be no lingering awkwardness between them from their last encounter, but Billy couldn’t help the corner of his mind from running ‘the last time I saw you I was inside of you’ on repeat. It was just human, that slight sense of heightened awareness after sleeping with someone new for the first time. But even so, Billy wished he weren’t so hung up on it.

At ten twenty-five Billy checked his watch and stood up to go to the phone at the counter, dialling the number for the CEO’s office. He sat on one of the red leather stools, tracing the stains of coffee mugs with his finger while the phone rang. He had an excuse on the tip of his tongue if anyone was still in the office and picked up. But the phone rang out and Billy set the receiver down, nodding to Goodnight in the booth.

“Let’s go.”

They made their way to the company and bypassed the front door, heading around the corner to the parking garage entrance. It was a large garage that connected many different companies on the same block, a maze of concrete pillars and winding driveways, dark and mostly abandoned this time of night. But if anyone spotted Billy and Goodnight, they’d see the suits and hopefully just assume they were two of the many many businessmen who parked here, and were coming from a late meeting.

Billy took them to a corner of the garage with the private elevator. There was no up or down button, just a keypad whose code Billy punched in, having already acquired it back when he’d first procured the complete building blueprints.

The elevator dinged open and Billy and Goodnight looked at each other and stepped in. The doors slid silently shut, and Billy felt his stomach lurch from more than just the ascension. If anyone was still in the office it would be game over the second they looked over at the elevator and saw Billy and Goodnight standing there cornered. It was an almost unbearably tense ride to the top floor, and Billy held his breath as the floor settled and the doors slid open.

The office was dim and shadowed, quiet, and above all, empty. The only sound in the room was a trickling fountain. Billy breathed a sigh of relief and they stepped out, their shoes noiseless on the plush carpet.

“Go listen by the door,” Billy murmured to Goodnight. “I’ll find the safe.”

Goodnight nodded and moved wordlessly towards the office doors, and Billy looked around for where he thought the safe would be. After all, he had been in the office once before. And he had a pretty good idea.

He walked past the fountain, past the bonsai trees on a ledge, and went straight to the far wall. Standing in front of it was an ornamental screen depicting a scene from nature. A gold lacquer tree stretched out over an azure brook that seemed like real water when Billy tilted his head. The leaves from the tree were pure jade and Billy smiled to himself. Maybe money does grow on trees.

He shifted the screen to one side, and sure enough came face to face with a heavy cast iron safe. It was a combination-only safe, and Billy ignored the lockpicks in his pocket, taking out his new safecracking stethoscope and putting it in his ears. Then he spun the dial several revolutions so as to disengage the wheels and reset the lock. Then he got to work.

People chose the heavy, imposing-looking metal safes for how impressive they looked. The harder the material, the harder it looked to crack. But when a safe was metal like this, the sound of the dial spinning reverberated more easily, every click of the pins amplified in Billy’s ears.

It felt like hours as Billy worked on the combination, taking note of the slightest shift in sound, but it couldn’t have been more than ten minutes. But he was in such a trance, ears full of the sounds of falling tumblers, shifting pins, and the minute ticking of the dial acting as a hypnotist’s fixation device, lulling Billy into an almost dissociative state.

Just then there was an unmistakable clunk, a heavier shift of the tumblers, the feeling almost vibrating through the tips of Billy’s fingers. He pulled back, slowly turned the safe’s handle, and the safe was opening with a thud.

“Goody,” he said quietly, and Goodnight came over immediately, taking in a breath at the contents of the safe. There were some stacks of money, yes, but both were looking at the envelopes, black folders, and strips of film.

“Here,” Billy said, handing Goodnight a camera. “Take pictures of whatever you need. Put everything back exactly as you found it. Be fast.”

“I will,” Goodnight murmured, entranced by all the proof, right there, of a story he’d been chasing for years. He took the proffered camera, their fingers brushing. Billy swallowed and moved away to close the windows’ blinds, in case anyone noticed the flash of a camera on the top floor of the building.

Goodnight worked quickly and efficiently, taking photos of every page he could find, transcribing their contents in his notebook at the same time. Billy kept his eye on the door and the clock at the same time. He didn’t really think anyone would show up that late, but he held himself primed in case it happened.

But no one came in, Goodnight resealed everything and placed it back carefully in the safe. Billy came over and closed the safe, resetting the dial to the digits it had originally been on, a common security measure for safe owners. Then he and Goodnight reset the screen, opened the blinds, and got back in the elevator, letting it take them down to the garage. In and out, twenty minutes, just like Billy had said.

Goodnight was practically vibrating next to him and the second they stepped out of the elevator he broke into a wide grin.

“Don’t,” Billy warned him before Goodnight could let out a whoop of elation, but Billy was fighting back a smile too.

“I won’t,” Goodnight said giddily. “But did you see some of those files? All the proof in the world lying right there in his safe.”

“Yeah, he really needs to invest in a better security system,” Billy said with a snort as he tugged off his gloves with his teeth. “Anyone could waltz in there and crack that safe.”

“Not anyone,” Goodnight said seriously and he stopped in the middle of the parking garage, turning to Billy. “Thank you, Billy. For everything. There wouldn’t be an article without you.”

Billy’s lip twitched as he looked at Goodnight who was still dead serious, eyes bright and intent as he gazed back at Billy, and Billy felt a tug in his chest. His work here was effectively done, and once they parted ways they wouldn’t have an excuse to see each other again.

As though reading Billy’s thoughts, Goodnight seemed to hesitate.

“Look I’m going to be caught up for a few days organizing the evidence, writing the rest of the article, and editing the old stuff.”

Billy eyed him uncertainly, not sure if this was Goodnight’s way of letting him down easy, or if Goodnight was gearing up for more.

“…and then there’s the publishing and don’t even get me started on what a hassle that is. But after this is all over, is there any chance you –”

Whatever he’d been about to say was cut off by the cocking of a gun.

“Don’t move.”

Billy and Goodnight slowly turned around, coming face to face with four hard looking men, two with knives, one with a gun. They all had untamed facial hair and dirty nails.

Billy relaxed immediately. Armed muggers yes, but definitely not company security.

“Wallets and watches, you know what to do,” the one with the gun said.

“You can have our watches,” Billy said, slowly unbuckling the strap of his watch, Goodnight doing the same beside him. “But we don’t have wallets.”

It was actually true, as neither wanted identification on them while they broke in. But the muggers just scoffed.

“Nice try,” said the one with the knife, pausing to spit briefly on the floor, the glob glistening on the garage pavement. “Fancy business men like you? Coming out of a private elevator for one of these buildings? You’ve got cash. And you’re gonna hand it over in three...”

Billy met Goodnight’s eyes and saw the same resolve he felt. Billy saw Goodnight clench his fist and Billy adjusted his stance every so slightly.

“Two...”

Billy lunged forward and Goodnight lashed out before the man could even reach one, catching him off guard. Billy delivered a blow to the arm holding onto the gun, and the gun went skittering across the floor, sliding beneath a nearby car. The man charged him and within seconds, all six were brawling there in the garage.

Their assailants weren’t especially skilled, but they were big and it was four against two. One of the men got his arms around Billy from the back. Billy just dug his elbow into his stomach hearing an _oof_ behind him. Another man rushed him and Billy swung a forceful kick right between the man’s legs, watching him go green and go down. Billy had no particular qualms about fighting dirty, especially not when he was outnumbered. Unfair’s unfair.

Billy looked around for Goodnight who was occupied with one of the muggers, the other one lying on the ground and clutching his ribs, knife abandoned next to him. Goodnight didn’t look like he was doing too badly by himself but Billy ran over to help, catching the upright mugger from behind. Goodnight delivered a blow across the man’s jaw so hard Billy could practically feel the vibrations ripple through the mugger he was holding. The man dropped to the floor, out cold, leaving Billy and Goodnight standing there breathing hard. Billy flicked the hair out of his face and Goodnight straightened his tie.

“Well,” Goodnight began, breathing hard, “I don’t remember Miss Marple having to deal with _that_.”

Billy burst out into a giddy laugh and Goodnight gave him a sharp grin. But then his eyes widened, his smile dropped abruptly, and before Billy could ask what was wrong, Goodnight was shoving Billy to the side and catching the hand of the mugger who’d gotten to his feet and was stabbing down with a knife, right where Billy had been standing a moment before.

The knife caught Goodnight’s hand and Goodnight let out a sharp gasp of pain. Billy lunged back and caught the man’s shoulder, hauling him away from Goodnight. He kneed the man in the stomach, punching him over and over, the man’s head whipping back and forth with the blows until there was blood spurting out of his mouth and he went sprawling to the floor again.

Billy rushed back to Goodnight whose hand was steadily pulsing blood through his clenched fingers, dripping down his arm and soaking his sleeve.

“Let me see,” Billy said, taking Goodnight’s hand and gently uncurling his fingers. A fresh pulse of blood gushed out and Billy could make out the cut, deep across Goodnight’s entire palm. Billy winced just looking at it.

“I’m fine,” Goodnight said before Billy could say a word, trying to hold the skin together with his good hand, gritting his teeth as he did so.

“You need stitches,” Billy said calmly, even though his heart was pounding more than it had done while fighting. He took off his tie to wrap tightly around Goodnight’s hand, not that it would do much good.

“It doesn’t hurt,” Goodnight protested, fumbling as he tried to help Billy with the already sodden tie.

Billy gave a disbelieving snort. “You still need stitches.” The cut was jagged and uneven from the way Goodnight had caught the blade midair and twisted it away from Billy.

“It’s _fine_ , it just needs bandages –”

“Goody,” Billy interrupted, trying to keep the urgency out of his voice as the cut continued to pulse away. “You need stitches and a tetanus shot. Now.”

Blood was now running over both their hands, dripping steadily onto the floor of the parking garage where the unconscious bodies of their assailants were still lying. The circumstances were hardly propitious, but Goodnight raised his head, his eyes as wide and wondering as though a shaft of golden light had poured into the garage.

“That’s the second time you’ve called me Goody,” he said, and although he was breathing hard he was wearing an amazed smile.

Billy stared back incredulously. “ _What?_ ”

“I told you to before, but you didn’t until tonight,” Goodnight said blithely, still wearing that dizzy smile.

Billy shook his head, hoping Goodnight wasn’t getting delirious from loss of blood. “I’m taking you to a hospital.”

“I don’t want them to ask questions,” Goodnight said seriously, and though his face was pale, his eyes were lucid. “About what we were doing.”

“Trust me,” Billy said. “They won’t.”

 

*

 

After a short cab ride in which Billy had paid the driver extra to floor it and to also ignore the amount of blood Goodnight was trying to keep off the seats, they made it through the emergency room, were given clean cloths to keep pressed to Goody’s cut, they were both sitting side by side in a doctor’s office, waiting for someone to come in and give stitches.

“Hang in there,” Billy said quietly, just because he needed to say something. The bleeding wasn’t gushing as freely anymore but he was only just starting to come down from the adrenaline of their evening, and it was being replaced by worry.

“I’m fine,” Goodnight repeated, face wan in the unflattering lights of the doctor’s office they were in. “Not the worst I’ve gotten.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” Billy muttered, looking around the office, as though someone would materialize through the walls.

“This night nurse that you know,” Goodnight said, “You sure they won’t ask questions?”

“I’m sure,” Billy said. This particular night nurse asked plenty of questions, but never about where injuries came from.

And then the door swung open and a tall figure in blue nurses’ scrubs appeared in the doorway. He looked between them, eyes stopping on Goodnight’s hand.

“What the fuck did you get into this time, Billy?” he said walking over.

“Hi Josh,” Billy said, registering Goodnight’s raised eyebrows beside him.

“Hi,” Faraday said distractedly, snapping on a pair of latex gloves and nodding towards Goodnight. “Who’s this?”

“Goodnight Robicheaux, nice to meet you,” Goodnight said, gesturing as though he would have offered to shake hands if his wasn’t still slowly seeping blood.

“Oh hey, I’ve read your articles,” Faraday said snorting. “What happened, quote somebody wrong?”

Goodnight looked incredulously at Billy who just shrugged.

“Alright, you, on the table, you, beat it, you’re in my way,” Faraday said, jerking his head towards the wall and Billy reluctantly moved away from Goodnight to go observe by the wall.

“Okay let’s see,” Faraday said as Goodnight took the cloth away from his hand. He raised his eyebrows at the length of it and whistled. “Damn. I take it you weren’t cutting vegetables?”

“Not quite,” Goodnight said dryly. Faraday took out a pack of disinfectants and began briskly cleaning Goodnight’s hand, Goodnight only tensing when the disinfectant made direct contact with the cut.

“So how you been, Billy?” Faraday asked while he cleaned and sterilized the cut.

“Not bad,” Billy said. “Work’s been busy.”

“This one of your cases?” Faraday asked, nodding towards Goodnight and stabbing him with a syringe at the same time.

“Ow!” Goodnight said indignantly.

“I’ll count to three next time,” Faraday said unconcerned.

“What about you, how’s work?” Billy asked.

“Oh you know,” Faraday said, tossing the syringe in the garbage, taking out a needle and medical gut. “The usual. People coming in saying they walked into a door and that’s why they have a black eye, or their kid just ‘fell’ down the stairs. D’you know, I had someone in the other day with a bullet hole and they tried to tell me someone just threw a rock at them really really hard. Didn’t want me to report it.”

Billy snorted. “Did you?”

“Course not,” Faraday said scoffing. “They’d never come back, and then who would they go to for help? Not someone who knows what they’re doing, that’s for damn sure.”

“If you say so,” Billy said. He didn’t understand all of Faraday’s self-imposed medical ethics, but he hadn’t grown up in and out of social services like Faraday had. Faraday didn’t always know what he was talking about, but he knew hospitals, and he knew people, and there was a reason everyone went to him with the problems they didn’t want on the record. If something ever happened that Faraday couldn’t morally let slide, he took care of it himself, or got Vasquez to do it. It was through Vasquez that Billy had met Faraday in the first place.

“Oh, one two three, by the way,” Faraday said to Goodnight before poking the needle into his skin beginning to stitch him back up. Goodnight sucked in a breath but rolled his eyes. Billy leaned forward to watch Faraday make quick, neat stitches. As a nurse Faraday wasn’t strictly allowed to suture of his own volition, but that didn’t mean he didn’t do it anyways for all types who came in. Billy himself had a set of Faraday’s sutures in his back.

“Yo, give me some room, Billy,” Faraday said to Billy who realized he’d been looming over his progress on Goodnight. Billy pulled back hastily. The needle and gut looked tiny in Faraday’s large hands, but he continued to tug Goodnight back together bit by bit, the stitches coming together almost delicately.

“Oh hey, Vas says you’re supposed to come to dinner soon,” Faraday said as he made his way down the cut.

“Sure,” Billy said. Faraday’s cooking more than made up for his constant stream of consciousness.

“How do you two know each other?” Goodnight chimed in finally, looking between them, and was there a trace of jealousy in his tone? Billy wasn’t sure, but felt slightly gratified by the thought.

“Mutual friend,” Faraday said breezily, offering no other details. Billy was one of the very few people in the city who knew that the man who effectively led the city’s blackmarket industry was in a longterm relationship with another man, one who also happened to supply him with under the table medical supplies. People who knew Faraday and Vasquez separately wouldn’t expect that the night nurse with zero bedside manner, and the florist with plenty were candidates for a committed relationship at all, let alone with each other. And yet they were the most committed pair Billy knew. Sometimes it made him envious, not of either of them, but what they had.

“Jesus, Billy, move back, would you?” Faraday said irately. “What’s wrong with you?”

Billy shot back, flushing as he realized he been leaning protectively over Goodnight again. Faraday’s eyes traveled between them, lingered on Billy’s flustered expression, and his sharp green eyes widened and a conniving grin appeared on his face.

“Oh my god, is this _him_?” he squawked, actually pausing in his stitches.

“No,” Billy said emphatically but Faraday was already cackling.

“Vas said you came in all moony yesterday!” Faraday said, head swivelling towards Goodnight as though looking at him properly for the first time. “Is _this_ the guy? Oh my god he’s going to be _so_ jealous I met him first!”

“Met who first?” Goodnight asked confused.

“Shut _up_ , Faraday,” Billy muttered, knowing his neck was turning red and forcefully willing his blush down.

“Alright, alright,” Faraday, resuming his stitches but still looking completely gleeful. “But nice one, Billy.”

“Oh my god,” Billy said, turning to pretend to read the sign on the wall for eye-testing so that neither could see his blush.

“Okay, and you’re done,” Faraday said to Goodnight, tying off the stitches and cutting off the leftover thread. “Don’t use the hand for a couple weeks, and that includes you and Billy jerking each- _ow_ ”

“Sorry,” Billy said insincerely, having just jabbed Faraday with a tongue compressor he’d found, cutting off the rest of that sentence.

Faraday glowered at Billy but turned back to Goodnight with a smirk, holding out a bottle of painkillers. “Take one of these tonight, and again tomorrow if you need it. One at a time though, they pack a hell of a punch. Bandage the hand if you want to, or don't. I don't care.”

Goodnight pocketed them with his other hand and reached for his coat. “Thanks I think.”

“You should thank me,” Faraday said snorting. “Think I don’t have better things to do than stitch up grown men who get themselves into trouble?”

There was a knock on the office and another nurse came in, escorting a surly looking boy who wouldn’t look at her. He had welts up and down his arms, and what Billy hoped wasn’t a cigarette burn but wasn’t naïve enough to discount the possibility of.

“Jimmy, my man,” Faraday said, casual as anything. “On the table. Was just sending these bums out. By the way if you ever wear a tie like that one’s when you grow up, I’m never speaking to you again,” he said of Goodnight’s tie.

The boy didn’t smile but the line of his shoulders eased and he went over to sit on the table.

“He won’t speak to anyone else,” the other nurse told Faraday in a voice that wasn’t nearly quiet enough. “And those look like belt –”

“Yeah, okay,” Faraday said cutting her off, the line of his mouth annoyed as he waved her away. She pursed her lips but left. “Give me a sec, Jimmy.”

He turned to Billy and said in a much quieter voice than his normal: “This is one I might want your help with, Billy. Stepfather. Courts won’t budge on custody because he makes more money than the mother. Vas is working on papers for the mom, but if you were able to get something on him that’ll stick…”

“Done,” Billy said, reaching for his coat, casting a quick look at the fidgety boy of about thirteen or so, sitting on the table and avoiding eye contact with anyone.

“Thanks,” Faraday said relaxing. “Now get out of here. I’ll send you the bill for your boytoy.”

Billy rolled his eyes but clapped Faraday on the shoulder before reaching for his coat. He headed to the door to where Goodnight was waiting. And he heard Faraday taking behind him, in as gentle a voice as anyone was capable of:

“Alright, how’s it going over here? You still over on thirty-ninth? Have they finally fixed the basketball net on that block? It was a cardboard ring when I was a kid…”

Billy reached the door and cast a glance back at Faraday who was sitting across from the kid, holding his hands up, palms out.

“Still remember what I showed you about making a fist? Here try it again, hit my hand. Yeah like that. Come on, one more time. Yeah that’s it. Remember what I said about practicing…”

Billy suddenly felt exhausted, beyond just the events of the evening. For some people it was always this kind of evening.

He turned back to Goodnight who was waiting for him. Billy gave him a tired nod and they walked out together, the door swinging shut behind him on the world inside the room.

They took a cab back through the deserted streets. Goodnight had taken one of the painkillers and was getting drowsy, his head falling to Billy’s shoulder at some point during the ride.

“Don’t fall asleep yet,” Billy said gently, ignoring the way the motion had gotten his heart fluttering.

“Mmm,” Goodnight agreed, eyelids at half-mast as the cab pulled in in front of Billy’s building.

Billy had given the driver his address since it was closer than Goody’s. He wondered if he should have given Goodnight’s address too, but Goodnight showed no objections to being shepherded out of the car, and led over to Billy’s building where they took the elevator up. Whatever painkillers Faraday had given him were definitely doing their work, and Goodnight seemed only half aware of their surroundings as Billy led him into his apartment, and towards the bedroom.

“Shoo,” he said to the cat who was winding her way around their feet, having run over the second they’d arrived home.

Billy settled Goodnight onto his bed, tugging off his shoes but leaving the rest of his clothes on. Goodnight fell asleep the second his head hit the pillow and Billy stood there staring at him with a feeling in his chest he couldn’t identify. Or rather he _could_ identify it, but wasn’t entirely sure he welcomed it. Billy had already gotten as close as he got with anyone. Opening himself up to more was a step above his emotional paygrade.

Billy wondered if he should sleep on the couch. Just because they’d slept together didn’t mean they were sleeping together. He didn’t know if it would be presumptuous to get in bed with Goodnight when they hadn’t confirmed what their encounter actually was.

Billy finally sighed and kicked off his shoes, getting out of his blazer and shirt. He got into bed behind Goodnight before he could overthink it too much. He kept his distance, arms stiff. But Goodnight mumbled and rolled over, burrowing into Billy’s chest.

Fuck it, Billy thought, and finally wrapped his arms around Goodnight who went right back to sleep. Billy tried to do the same, but he lay awake for hours, Goodnight’s hair distractingly soft against his nose, his breathing heavy over the pulse in Billy’s neck. Billy couldn’t stop his heart from pounding at the proximity. Maybe they didn’t know each other that well yet. But that didn’t mean Billy didn’t want them to.

 

*

 

Goodnight slept almost fourteen hours, the painkillers having knocked him out cold. Billy was relieved. He’d slipped out of bed while Goodnight was still sleeping, heading into the kitchen where he sat by the window for a long time, drinking his breakfast of coffee. He wouldn’t have minded company from the cat, but she’d arranged herself around Goodnight’s neck like a ruff, dozing in the sun that was getting higher and higher in the sky.

Goodnight finally stumbled out of the bedroom in the early afternoon. He looked groggy as he wandered into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes, the clothes he’d slept in rumpled beyond repair.

“Morning,” Billy said, even though it was hours past that. He passed Goodnight a mug of coffee from the second pot, which Goodnight accepted with a grunt that had a grateful tenor. Billy’s lips quirked as they drank silently. When Goodnight finally surfaced from his mug he looked marginally more awake.

“Morning,” he finally returned, rubbing his head. “God, those pills have a kick. Had the craziest dreams all night.” He took another sip of coffee and then looked thoughtfully up at Billy.

“Did we really break in last night?” Goodnight asked.

“We did,” Billy said.

Goodnight nodded. “Was pretty sure I wasn’t hallucinating that part.”

Billy snorted. But Goodnight looked surprisingly glum. Billy thought he’d have been itching to go through all his new evidence, like they were nefariously-obtained Christmas presents.

“How’s the hand?” Billy asked tentatively.

“ Well that’s just it,” Goodnight said, setting down his mug of coffee with his good hand, holding out the other, the stiches black, railroading across his entire palm. “How am I supposed to write like this? I tried but I can’t even curl my hand to type. Every time I move my fingers it pulls the stiches.”

“Can you wait until your hand is better?” Billy asked but Goodnight shook his head, taking a seat at Billy’s counter.

“Now that we’ve got the evidence, the quicker it can be published the better. I wouldn’t want it published any later than next week.”

“Can’t type one-handed?”

Goodnight cracked a smile and shook his head again.

“Tried that once with a sprained wrist. Took too long and wasn’t worth the waste of ink.”

He looked down at the counter, eyes far away. Billy leaned back against the counter, looking thoughtfully into his mug.

“You know…if it’s just an extra pair of hands you need…I could type for you,” he offered.

Goodnight lifted his head, eyebrows creased. Billy plowed on.

“Just typing. If you dictated the rest of the article I could transcribe it. I know that would probably be annoying for you to dictate the whole article instead of writing it, but –”

“Are you kidding?” Goodnight demanded. “That wouldn’t be annoying, that would be _perfect_.”

“Really?” Billy asked skeptically. “You’d have to say everything exactly how you want me to type it, that’s not easy.” Billy had to do his own share of writing reports in this job, and couldn’t imagine having to spin sentences in the air so as to get them onto the page through another party.

“You’re offering to get my article out in time, I’d interpretive dance it for you if you wanted,” Goodnight said with a dazed laugh. He got up off the stool, coming around the counter saying again: “That would be amazing, Billy. Thank you. Charge it however you want on your final cheque.”

Billy waved away the offer, feeling a little uncomfortable. “You got that helping me,” he said, nodding towards the harsh line of stitches in Goodnight’s hand. “Least I can do.”

“Look, I’m beyond grateful for the offer,” Goodnight said hesitantly. “But…are you sure you want to?”

Billy shrugged, gesturing with his coffee mug as though to ask ‘why not?’ and Goodnight bit his lip.

“If you’re sure. All the article stuff is at my place. You okay camping out for a few days?”

Billy nodded. This could be a terrible idea. They still hadn’t acknowledged their more intimate encounter, and if they hadn’t at this point, Billy doubted they would. Some conversations had a window on them. Either it would happen again or it wouldn’t. He’d just have to see. But either way, he wasn’t ready to let go of Goodnight just yet.

“When do we start?”

An hour later, once Goodnight had woken up properly and Billy had put some clothes into a bag and left out extra food for the cat, they were on a bus making their way across town. Goodnight was practically vibrating next to Billy on the seat, and Billy could tell he was already writing his article in his head.

It took them that whole first day to sift through the evidence they’d copied from the CEO’s safe. They spent most of it in the darkroom, developing film with the same easy back-and-forth they’d had that first time. If either of them were thinking of how they’d almost kissed each other back then, it didn’t show. Didn’t keep Billy from thinking of it the whole time though.

He was still thinking about it when they’d made a plan of action for which aspects of the case to tackle first. Goodnight had organized the evidence into multiple piles, asking Billy to create a timeline for the files, occasionally jotting down his own scrawled notes in his less dominant hand.

They worked closely. Whether hip-to-hip in the darkroom, or heads pressed together while they pored over their files, Billy could practically feel the warmth of Goodnight beneath his suit all day.

It was torture.

“Okay,” Goodnight finally said, appraising the table that was arranged as neatly as a patchwork quilt, but unlikely to stay that way. “I think I know the order of the rest of the article, but there’s a lot I have to add to what I have. We’ve done enough for today though, we can actually start typing tomorrow.”

“Right,” Billy said, acutely aware that there was still a stretch of time to be had before tomorrow.

They lingered on the carpet across from each other. Billy couldn’t help thinking about what had happened on that carpet last time. He slid his eyes over to Goodnight who was staring back at him. His shirt was sticking to him in the heat, his hair was tousled and sweaty, and he was eyeing Billy with the energy of what they hadn’t mentioned pulsing between them.

“So…” Billy began. “Should I…”

He trailed off, unsure of what he’d been about to say. He was going to ask Goody what time he should be back tomorrow, but suddenly found he didn’t even want the option out there. His eyes traced Goodnight’s body beneath the limp suit.

“Dammit, could you just –” Goodnight said in a rough, strained voice.

And then he was reaching out for Billy, Billy reached out for him, and at the same time were pulling the other in close for a crushing, hungry kiss.

Billy moaned and tilted his head, kissing Goodnight hard, desperately, Goodnight’s one good hand clutching at his clothes insistently, trying to get them out of the way.

“God, darlin’,” Goodnight breathed, his hand finally finding Billy’s skin, sliding reverently up his back, fingers digging in hard. The touch sent a charge through Billy, one he’d been craving, and he responded by yanking Goodnight’s shirt open, the buttons flying across the living room.

There’d been a hunger in Goodnight’s eyes all day, one Billy had attributed to the thrill of putting together the case. But now they flickered absolutely black as he surged forward again, catching Billy in a kiss that didn’t hold anything back.

They staggered across the living room, leaving a discarded trail of clothing across the carpet that finished in Goodnight’s bedroom.

They fell to the bed together, Billy sliding over top, immediately pressing against each other where they needed the most relief.

“You,” Goodnight got out, arching his hips and panting as Billy kissed the side of his neck hungrily, “have been driving me crazy, you know that?”

“Have I?” he murmured into the skin, biting down suddenly.

“ _Damn_ ,” Goodnight cursed breathlessly, fingers tightening on Billy’s sides, chasing the motions of Billy’s hips with his own. “Can’t tell you how much I wanted to do this again.”

Billy didn’t reply, but returned the sentiment by lifting one of Goodnight’s thighs up around him, grinding down.

“God yeah, anything you want,” Goodnight moaned, their hips finding a rhythm. Billy couldn’t help huffing out a laugh, a bead of sweat rolling down between his shoulder blades.

“Don’t remember you being this mouthy,” he said in a sultry voice thrusting forward, savouring the hot throb against him.

“Then you weren’t paying close enough attention,” Goodnight murmured, the heat in his eyes sparking gamely. And he wrapped his other leg around Billy, and drew him in closer.

Afterwards, sweaty and sated and breathing hard, they shared a cigarette, Billy lying back on Goodnight’s mattress, Goodnight propped up beside him. He kept gazing down in a daze to where Billy was bonelessly lounging, sheet rucked up around his hips, like he couldn’t believe what he was looking at.

“It’s going to be hard to focus on writing with you around, isn’t it?” he asked with a breathless laugh.

“If it were easy, everyone would do it,” Billy drawled, still on something of a high. He took a hit of the cigarette before passing it back to Goodnight, smiling up at him. Goodnight just laughed and stubbed the cigarette out, sliding on top of Billy and kissing him. Billy slid his hands through Goodnight’s hair and kissed him back, and let his chest open up to the happiness that crackled through it.

 

*

 

Despite Goodnight doubting of his own concentration abilities, he was a fiend of focus when the article took hold of him. It took them a couple attempts to find a system, Billy quickly learning when Goodnight was brainstorming a sentence out loud, and when he actually wanted it written down. Billy would wait patiently, drinking something cool while Goodnight paced the living room muttering to himself, or reviewing his evidence, both new and old. He’d then lunge back towards Billy at the desk and rattle off whatever new sentence he wanted Billy to type.

It was equal parts rushed and tedious, typing for Goodnight who would go into a trance one moment, and become hyperfocused the next. Certainly the increasingly humid weather and the cartons of takeout lying around everywhere didn’t help the work environment. But whenever Billy thought Goodnight was getting too caught up in his own head, Billy had found an excellent way to distract him…

“Do you think I need that sentence?” Goodnight demanded, leaning over Billy’s shoulder and peering at the page. “I don’t think I need that sentence, but the next paragraph needs that sentence…or should it go earlier? But we already typed that part, I don’t want to change it again…”

Billy stretched, his hand cramping. They were both down to undershirts and shorts, sweat beading over Billy’s back where he’d been sitting.

“Keep it in,” Billy said, reaching for the glass of water that he kept on the carpet beside the desk, to avoid the risk of spillage on the already-typed notes.

“Should I?” Goodnight asked in a high-pitched voice, looking a little crazed as he scanned the page again.

“Or don’t,” Billy said easily, taking a sip of water.

“Not helpful,” Goodnight whined, leaning closer to the words.

Billy smiled into his glass and set it back down on the carpet. He turned in his chair towards Goodnight, coming face-to-face with the fly of Goodnight’s boxers. He leaned forward tugging them open.

“Is this helpful?” he asked simply, drawing Goodnight out of his boxers.

Goodnight shuddered and tightened his grip on the back of Billy’s chair.

“I don’t know yet,” he said hoarsely, swelling quickly in Billy’s hand as Billy stroked him slowly.

“How ‘bout now?” Billy murmured, leaning forward and sliding his lips over Goodnight’s cock, taking him deep into his mouth, beginning to suck him off there at the desk, eyes fluttering shut when he heard Goodnight let out a breathy curse and begin to rock into Billy’s mouth in increasingly quicker increments. When he came it was with buckled knees and a hand on the back of Billy’s head. And no sooner had he slipped out of Billy’s mouth than he was sinking to his knees to return the favour.

“Very helpful,” Goodnight finally said, leaning up and gasping, wiping his mouth. He waited until he’d gotten his breath back, and was getting back to his feet to continue their writing.

So that was the routine they’d built up over the past couple of days: marathon writing sessions, the occasional break for food. And when Billy ever felt that either of them was getting too restless, they interrupted their work for frenzied bouts of sex that just got better each time. One night Billy came so hard he thought he’d blacked out, the fibres of the carpet digging into his knees the only thing grounding him in reality.

Goodnight’s bed was becoming something of a totem as well, Billy knowing they’d be retiring to it at the end of the day. Goodnight could work like a demon all day, but seemed resolute about avoiding writing at night.

“Used to sleep badly,” he explained to Billy one time. “Kept seeing what I was writing about every time I closed my eyes. I know some people can work through the night, but I need it to recharge.”

Billy had no complaints, because Goodnight ‘recharging’ seemed to involve a lot of pulling Billy towards him for kisses, hungry hands, and more. And Billy was finding himself utterly addicted. Goody was a generous lover, and selfish in the right ways too. And Billy began to learn his tells, coming to crave the way Goodnight’s breath would come faster when he was on the edge, the way he would cling to Billy, and the way his toes would curl…

There was only so much sex they could physically partake in though, and Billy began to learn more about Goodnight himself in that shimmering, sated place before sleep. Goodnight spoke so much and so easily about his travels, stories about things he’d seen, but he never seemed to reveal too much about his life before he’d moved to the city. Maybe he didn’t count it as his real life, and that was fair enough. Billy had accidentally prompted the subject when Goodnight was talking about the various knick-knacks he’d collected over the years.

“Thinking about moving the globe,” he said once through a yawn. “Practically just broke my toe on it.” He was coming back from the kitchen, handing Billy a glass of whiskey with an ice cube, taking a sip of his own as they recovered from a particularly vigorous bout of ‘recharging’.

“Well it’s not exactly pocket-sized,” Billy said taking the proffered glass, enjoying the sheen of sweat over Goodnight’s muscles as he slipped back beneath their sheets, already getting entirely too used to this.

“I know something else that’s not pocket-sized,” Goodnight said with a deliberately salacious wink. Billy snorted into his glass.

“That was awful.”

“Indulge me, I get so little opportunity for innuendo in the news trade,” Goodnight said grinning. Once he was fully under the sheets Billy felt him peel off the boxers he’d put on to go to the kitchen. Something about how it was ungentlemanly to hang loose in front of someone unless you were actually _in_ bed with them. Billy sure as hell wouldn’t have minded the view though.

Goodnight leaned back against the headboard, stretching an arm around Billy’s shoulders. Billy leaned back in comfortably, running a hand up Goodnight’s thigh, the ceiling fan churning sluggishly above, sending warm breaths of air over them both.

“It’s from India,” Goodnight elaborated about his beloved globe after taking another sip. “Brought it back with me after I did a story there on the Indo-Pakistani war. Well. One of them.”

“Didn’t know that,” Billy said, stretching out a little.

“No? Yeah I mostly did international reporting when I got back from the army. Wanted to lie low after I broke the coverup, and The Times made me their foreign correspondent. Sent me around chasing stories across the globe.”

Billy smiled, lighting a cigarette and taking a pull. He handed it to Goodnight.

“Was in Africa on a whole other story when I first noticed something wasn’t adding up with the malaria clinic stationed there,” Goodnight continued. “The Febris one. And I don’t know, see enough fronts you start to get a feeling for that kind of thing, even if it’s got a damn red cross stamped on it. So started following that story, and whaddaya know? Ended up chasing it all the way back here.”

Goodnight finished his story with a squeeze to Billy’s shoulder, and pliant and comfortable as he was, Billy rolled over to trace an idle design into Goodnight’s chest.

“Been everywhere, huh?” he asked, fingers brushing through the sparse hairs there.

Goodnight smiled and brushed a strand of hair out of Billy’s eyes.

“Seen some views. None that beat this one though.”

Billy dropped his head to kiss Goodnight’s chest so that Goodnight couldn’t see him flush. The bedroom window was open for extra air and a humid breeze was intermittently wafting through. Lightning crackled occasionally outside, a dry storm in the heat.

“What else have you collected on your stories?” Billy asked into Goodnight’s chest, not adding ‘ _other than me_.’

“Well the photos mainly,” Goodnight said. “They tend to pack a little better. But the painting out there, the blue one? That’s from Morocco. The mask in the living room is from Korea. Actually pretty much everything in the living room is from somewhere else. Everything except the bookcase.”

He was referring to the large, ornate, mahogany bookshelf out in the main room, impossible to ignore. Billy would sometimes peruse the titles in it when Goodnight needed to research something by himself. But he would also sometimes admire its elegant carving, the thick wood as smooth as silk.

“Family heirloom?” Billy guessed. The thing looked like it cost several months of Billy’s rent.

Goodnight’s lips suddenly went tight around the cigarette.

“Hardly,” he said. “Not that my family doesn’t have heirlooms but I’m not likely to see any of them. I’m what you might call ‘cut off’.”

Before Billy could tactlessly ask ‘why’ Goodnight just shrugged.

“The usual reasons,” he said. “We didn’t really see eye to eye where certain lifestyles were concerned.” He didn’t elaborate, but given who his current pillow talk was directed towards, Billy could make his own guesses as to what lifestyle that was.

“It looks old,” was all Billy could think of to explain his assumption. Old money, to be precise, which is how he sometimes thought Goodnight seemed too, never mind the rougher neighbourhood he lived in. A siren wailed distantly outside as though punctuating the thought.

“Oh it is,” Goodnight said, his normal comfortable tone easing back into his voice. “Antique. I was pretty much broke until I published the cover-up story. And when I finally had some money coming in, well, I guess I couldn’t resist it.”

He sounded sheepish, as though he was admitting to using a sudden influx of money for cocaine and hookers, rather than an antique bookshelf.

“It’s nice,” Billy said, fingers resuming their path across Goodnight’s chest.

“You know what else is nice?” Goodnight said, with a fond smile that Billy almost felt he couldn’t look straight at. “This.”

Billy stilled, not knowing what to say. Goodnight seemed to sense it, and he prodded Billy’s chin up.

“I mean it,” he said quietly. “God I…sometimes I don’t even have words with you. You know?”

Billy didn’t know what to say to that. There were so many things Billy could have said to that. _I do know_ , or _No words…you?_ , or even just the truthful _Me too_. So many options and Billy paralyzed, not wanting to choose the wrong one.

He took a hasty swallow of his whiskey, and unthinkingly set the tumbler down on Goodnight’s bare chest.

“God, your glass is freezing!” Goodnight said with a hiss, shrinking from the touch with a laugh, the moment popped like a soap bubble.

“What, this glass?” Billy asked with a grin, pressing the chilled, condensation-beaded glass to Goodnight’s skin again.

“Billy!” Goodnight yelped indignantly, but he was laughing, and so was Billy as he tried to find new patches of skin to press the glass to, Goodnight pretending to wrestle him off, the sheets slipping to the side.

Billy eventually swallowed the rest of the whiskey, placing the glass back on the table, but he kept the ice cube in his mouth. He kissed Goodnight with it, and then made his way down Goodnight’s neck, his chest, his stomach, letting the ice create a cool trail over Goodnight’s flushed skin, Goodnight’s chest rising and falling more heavily, the lower Billy got…

And all Billy could think of as he worked his way down Goodnight’s quivering skin, tasting the shape of his laughter and arousal while the hot night melted away the last of the ice and Billy’s resolve, was that he never wanted this article to end.

 

*

 

But the day came where there were no more typos, no more sources to cite, Goodnight finally had nothing more to add, and the article was done.

Billy felt mixed about it. They still hadn’t put a label on what they were doing, although the events of the past week had made it clear it wasn’t a one-time thing. But what if it was just limited to this case? The past week had felt like something that happened to other people, and Billy didn’t want to question it at all, lest he jinx it.

Which was why, after a week of frenetic writing and sex, they were walking out of Goodnight’s apartment, the finished article in a briefcase under Goodnight’s arm, and Billy still didn’t know what the hell was going on.

They were heading to Goodnight’s publisher, and the route wasn’t direct enough by bus, so they were walking. Neither spoke much, both caught up in their own thoughts. The humidity of the past week was oppressive, the sky grey and roiling, not giving any sign of when it would break.

Goodnight was biting his lip and pulling at his collar which was limp in the heat. Billy fared better in the humidity, but even he was regularly lifting his sleeve to wipe his brow. He seemed to be escorting Goodnight to his publisher’s, and it felt like he was walking to the gallows.

They were almost at the newspaper office when there was a crack of thunder right over their heads, and the sky opened up, rain coming down in an instant wall. It blanketed the streets in a grey, pounding sheet, raindrops splashing up where they beat down relentlessly on the pavement.

“Shit,” Goodnight said, thrusting the briefcase at Billy and pulling off his suit jacket. He wrapped it around the briefcase again, the rain immediately soaking through his thin white shirt.

“Over here,” he called to Billy, and they ran around the corner, their feet splashing through puddles, until they reached an alley lined with balconies. They ducked into a doorway, managing to crowd into the one place beneath a small awning, the world turned into a flood outside.

“God damn,” Goodnight said, looking at the relentless pounding outside the doorway.

They looked at each other, both completely drenched, lips twitching, and finally burst out laughing. It felt like the rain was sluicing through the pyretic, frenzied haze that had built up while they’d been cooped up in Goodnight’s apartment, bogged down by the heat and word after word swimming on the page until they ceased to look like any language at all.

Goodnight checked to see that his briefcase was still dry, and leaned back against the doorframe, laughing again.

“Saved the article,” he said. “Can’t say the same for my jacket.”

His face was wet from the sheeting rain, water dotted his eyelashes, and his cheeks and lips were flushed pink, and he looked like he was about to say something else. But before he knew what he was doing, Billy leaned forward and was kissing him out of the blue.

Goodnight let out a surprised _oomph_ but Billy didn’t let up for a second, just backed Goodnight into the doorframe, a hand sliding through his wet hair, while he kissed him with everything that had been building up in him over the past week, hell, practically since they’d first met.

He continued to kiss Goodnight ardently and Goodnight’s eyes fell closed. He felt Goodnight drop the briefcase between their legs, and then Goodnight’s arms were sliding around Billy’s neck while he pulled Billy closer. Billy’s lips buzzed, rain-slick against Goodnight’s.

They kissed there in the doorway, hands sliding fervently over each other, lips working together intently, and when Billy finally pulled back, both were panting, their foreheads resting together.

“Billy,” he heard Goodnight breathe. Goodnight lifted his scarred hand to trace Billy’s jaw.

Billy swallowed.

“Good luck with the article,” he said. And before Goodnight could respond, Billy was pulling back and stepping out again into the rain, leaving Goodnight standing there with kiss-reddened lips, a bewildered expression, and the briefcase of their finished case at his feet.

 

*

 

Three days later, Billy was sitting in his office, eyes boring a hole into one of his files. He’d read the same sentence about ten times and he sighed, leaning back in his chair. He’d been so caught up in his case for Goodnight he’d neglected a lot of his paperwork, and was now playing catch-up. He should also start taking appointments again. He’d put them on hold, but it was time he took a new case.

His eyes fell to the phone and he felt a familiar weight in his stomach. He still hadn’t heard from Goodnight, and wasn’t sure if he would. He felt he’d made his intentions clear, kissing Goodnight within an inch of his life, with no intention or possibility of it leading to sex, the case also over, the only reason Billy had to kiss him simply being because he liked him. But he’d also just walked away from Goodnight, leaving the ball in his court. He knew Goodnight was caught up in publishing, but he didn’t know when he could expect a call, or if he could expect one at all.

Billy swivelled in his chair, turning to face the window. He felt like he hadn’t been in his office in a while, and it was the same view as always. But rather than satisfy him it almost depressed him for some reason. The thought of going back to his normal kind of cases was getting him down. True, the actual case with Goodnight had been fairly basic. The journalistic promise of it might have been glamorous, but the case itself – phone tapping, stakeouts, a break-in – was about as straightforward as you could get. But it had been a rush, start to finish, and it didn’t take a detective to know why.

The sun was shimmering over the tops of the buildings and Billy let his eyes follow the play of light down the brick walls across the way. He was so caught up in their glow he almost didn’t hear the knock on his open door.

“Got a minute?”

He turned in his chair, stomach dropping out. Goodnight stood there in the doorframe, a hesitant smile on his face, briefcase tucked under his arm.

“I didn’t make an appointment,” he said. “Can I come in?”

Billy felt the beginnings of a smile play at his lips and he gestured towards the empty chair in front of his desk.

Goodnight walked over, sitting down in the chair, much more tentative than he’d seemed the first time he’d been in Billy’s office.

“Sorry I haven’t called,” he said. “Like I said, publishing is a nightmare. But I still should have dropped you a line.”

Billy shrugged, not having been expecting Goodnight to call right away anyways, however much he’d been hoping for it.

“But the article’s out now,” Goodnight said, eyes brightening. “Thanks to you, of course.”

Billy nodded to Goodnight’s briefcase. “That it?”

“First batch,” Goodnight said, opening up the case. He took out one of the papers and handed it over to Billy. And there on the whole front page, beneath a splashy headline, was the case that Billy had been in headfirst these past couple of weeks.

He knew the text inside and out by now of course, but he still scanned over it, admiring the look of it in professional print, and the incriminating photographs placed strategically throughout the article, like stepping stones for the readers in a stream of text.

“That’s the first one off the press,” Goodnight said about the paper in Billy’s hands. “It’s yours if you want it.”

Billy met his eyes over the top of the paper. “Thanks.”

“Check the end,” Goodnight said.

Billy rifled through the pages coming to the last one, eyes running down the column of text towards the end. Underneath Goodnight’s name was his signoff and dedication. Billy started to read, lips moving along silently with the words:

_Goodnight Robicheaux is a contributing writer to The Times, and investigative reporter, and former military correspondent. He would like to dedicate this article to M. Marple –_

“ Really?” Billy asked, looking up. Goodnight shrugged innocently. Billy let out a huff of laughter and kept reading.

_He would like to dedicate this article to M. Marple, without whom there would be no words, and with whom there are no words as well._

Billy paused and read it again silently, heart beating a little stronger in his chest. He cleared his throat and folded up the newspaper, placing it on his desk. He managed to drag his eyes up to Goodnight’s.

“Thanks again,” Goodnight said quietly. “For all your work.”

“You’re welcome,” Billy said.

There was a pause. Goodnight was watching him with an expression that looked a lot like the yearning Billy had been feeling all week. Billy didn’t know what to say, but Goodnight looked like he was working on something. When he opened his mouth, however, it wasn’t what Billy was expecting.

“You know I almost didn’t want to let you type it for me?” Goodnight said suddenly.

“Oh?” Billy asked surprised, not sure if he should feel hurt yet.

“It’s just that…I get annoying when I write,” Goodnight said sheepishly. “A little on-edge maybe.”

“You don’t say,” Billy deadpanned, but smiling to show he didn’t mean it.

“Well I know I get focused, and…obsessive…and annoying,” Goodnight said. “And I wasn’t sure if you would still like me afterwards.”

He met Billy’s eyes, saying simply: “And I wanted you to still like me.”

Billy’s heart was still pounding from the other side of the desk. But he schooled his face.

“I see,” he said.

A silence stretched across them, but not as awkward as the one before. This one was thrumming with possibility.

“So I have another case,” Goodnight said suddenly, shifting in the office chair.

“Do you?” Billy asked.

“And I might need your help with it,” Goodnight explained. Billy waited and Goodnight smiled.

“See there’s this detective I’d like to get to know better. He’s a bit hard to read, I can’t always tell what he’s thinking but uh, I still like him. A lot.”

Billy felt his lips tugging up. The pounding in his chest had picked up but in a more anticipatory way. He reached out and thumbed a pen on his desk, not breaking eye contact with Goody.

“He sounds like a pretty cool guy,” Billy offered casually, unable to resist, biting back a small smile.

“Oh he is,” Goodnight said, eye twinkling. “But I thought, given your skills, you might be able to help me out with him. Find out what he’s thinking and all.”

Billy raised his eyebrows.

“About what?”

Goodnight smiled again.

“If he’d like to get dinner with me again sometime. Without the excuse of there being a case.”

He looked hesitant but hopeful and Billy felt a slow smile coming on, one that he didn’t bother to hide.

“Maybe you should just ask him.”

“Billy Rocks, can I take you out to dinner?” Goodnight asked immediately.

“Yes,” Billy said, not bothering to draw it out.

“Good,” said Goodnight, looking more relieved than Billy had expected. And that’s when Billy realized that even though he’d felt like he’d been practically telegraphing his own intentions, maybe Goodnight had been just as uncertain about all this as Billy had.

In order to dispel any last doubts that might have been lingering between them, Billy carefully placed the newspaper article in a drawer and got up to come decisively around the desk. Goodnight stood up abruptly and Billy just smiled as he slid his hand around the back of Goodnight’s head. And then he pulled him in to kiss him, long and lingering, the happy feeling that had been building in his chest taking flight through him.

They pulled back eventually, and when Billy rested his forehead against Goodnight’s it felt like he was letting out a breath he’d been holding for longer than he realized.

“So how ‘bout that dinner?” Billy finally murmured, enjoying the way Goodnight was tracing his ear with his good hand.

“Right. Dinner,” Goodnight said, voice somewhat hoarse. “Unless using your desk for something other than work has been a longrunning fantasy of yours…?”

He trailed off hopefully and Billy smiled and shook his head.

“Can’t say it ever has. But if dinner goes well, maybe I’ll take you back to my place and show you some of the others.”

“Now _that_ ,” Goodnight said, with an anticipatory grin, “Sounds like a plan. Gonna buy me some flowers too?”

Billy grinned back.

“I might know a place.”

He leaned to press one more kiss to Goodnight’s lips, just a hint of tongue promising more later. And feeling lighter than air he pulled back, and Goodnight bent down to pick up his briefcase.

“But really?” Goodnight asked as they walked across the office. “No one’s ever tried to seduce you over that desk? I don’t buy it.”

“Well there was one woman,” Billy said thoughtfully, grabbing his keys. “Wanted me to kill her ex-husband. She wearing a fur coat he gave her. Only the fur coat.”

_“Really?”_

“No, what is this, a mystery story?”

They reached the door and Billy grabbed his coat from the rack. He looked behind him, back into the office. It was the same as ever. Same desk, same filing cabinets, same window with its view of the rickety fire escapes across the way. He hit the lights and the last rays of sun streamed in through the blinds, striping his office in light.

It was Billy’s own little slip of the world, just a small corner really. But as he opened the door for Goodnight, he couldn’t help the sense that it might have felt just a little bigger than yesterday.

And he turned back and stepped out into the hall where Goodnight was waiting, letting the door close behind him.

 

 

 

**End.**


End file.
